Surely enough, when Sherlock turned around, he found that the girl had in fact, fled the scene. Sherlock gave a quick, "I'll be back for you," to the man on the ground, then ran back around to the door of 221B. The consulting detective slowly, silently walked up the stairs and pushed the door open. He found Lara sitting on the love seat with his dressing gown on, drying her hair with a towel.
"Made use of your bathroom, hope you don't mind," she said.
"Of course not," he replied stiffly. Sherlock turned to find John jogging up the stairs. He reached the top and got a good look at Lara.
"What are you doing?" John looked truly puzzled.
"Well, I've been on the road for days, I needed to freshen up."
"Alright, do you have any other clothes?" John asked.
"No, she has nothing but the clothes that were on her back," Sherlock answered for her. "She plans to stay awhile, though."
"What?"
"Well, I was hoping you wouldn't mind. You need me, anyways," she quipped.
"Nope. No way. Sorry, we can't take care of a child right now," John said blankly.
"I am not a child!" She shouted. Her gun was pointed at the doctor's head, her glare like an iron grip on him.
"Lara, put the gun down-" Sherlock tried to stop her but suddenly the gun was pointed at him.
"I know how to take care of myself. Don't call me a child again." she growled.
"Alright, alright, calm down, we'll talk about this." John tried helplessly to calm her down. She lowered her gun. "Thank you, now, why exactly do we need you?"
"As I said, those men were only sent to pick you up. The man behind all this, Moriarty, he practically has an army of criminals out to kill you and or bring you to him."
"Your point being?" Sherlock pushed.
"You would likely be dead or tied up in the backseat of a car had I not shown up and saved your asses."
"Mmm…" Sherlock appeared to be avoiding the conversation.
"You can call Lestrade now," she said.
"Why now?" John again looked puzzled.
"Well, I'm really not in a killing mood, and I don't feel like sharing the couch with Mister Baddie over there." She nodded her head towards the other intruder, still passed out.
"I'll text him," Sherlock offered.
"Sherlock, you could just call him this once," John sounded exasperated.
"John, he prefers to text, you should know this," Lara smirked.
Sherlock picked up John's phone off the table and texted Greg Lestrade:
Break in at Baker Street, three men. Also, strange teenage girl, do not be alarmed at her presence. Send least irritating officer or yourself at once. Preferably the latter.
-SH
He put the phone back down and sat down in his chair.
"Why are you here?" he asked, while staring intently at Lara.
"I told you. To save your asses," she said, staring back.
"But why? Why. Did. You. Stop them."
"If you're such a great detective, why don't you try to figure it out for yourself?"
"Because, I want you to admit it."
"I will admit nothing to you," she fumed. She started subconsciously reaching for her gun. Sherlock snatched it before she could touch it.
"Ah, I see. Abused? Obviously. Even you had to catch that John," Lara glared at him, clearly he had crossed some sort of line. "She felt I was threatening her," he continued, "so she prepared- subconsciously- to protect herself."
Lara tried quickly to take the gun from him, but he pulled his hand back.
"Give it to me, or so help me I will kill you," she warned.
"I want to see what happens if you're unarmed for a bit. Let's call it an experiment," Sherlock retorted.
"Remember, I know how to fight, I am never unarmed."
"And remember, there is also a soldier living in this flat," John butt in. Sherlock and Lara both gave him a look that told him he didn't make a difference.
"Right then. I guess I'll go get some blankets," John said, rising from the chair he was sitting in. "I'll be right back."
"I noticed Mrs. Hudson has some of her granddaughter's clothes put away in her closet, she might lend them to you," Sherlock said, making no move to get up.
"And why would she lend them to me?"
"Just a thought."
Suddenly a door slammed downstairs.
"Sherlock, dear, I'm back from the salon!"
She appeared at the doorway and saw Lara. "Oh! Sorry to intrude!"
"Not at all Mrs. Hudson. This is our guest, Lara. She'll be staying with us for a while." Sherlock seemed completely relaxed.
"Oh, you look so young, dear..." Mrs. Hudson looked puzzled. Or worried. Lara couldn't tell.
"Thanks, I guess. I'm fifteen."
"Oh! And how do you know John?" The landlady asked.
"Oh, my sister used to work with Sherlock. They were also friends. We used to know each other too." Lara was completely nonchalant.
"Alright, nice meeting you dear. If you ever need to get away from the boys, come downstairs and I'll get you a nice cup of tea."
"Mrs. Hudson, you wouldn't happen to have any of your granddaughter's old clothes would you?" Sherlock asked
"Well, I do, actually. Why?"
"The airline lost Lara's luggage and she needs some things to wear."
"Sorry to hear that dear," Mrs. Hudson gave Lara a sad look. "I'll go get the box."
"Thank you," Lara sounded sincere.
Mrs. Hudson turned and walked down the stairs, muttering something about a poor girl. Lara turned to Sherlock. "You didn't have to do that."
"I want my dressing gown back," he replied. Then John walked in with a pile of blankets.
"I'll sleep here on the couch, you can use my room," he said.
"I couldn't possibly-"
"Of course not, she will use my bedroom. I'm usually out here anyways," Sherlock said. He appeared to be trying to be gentlemanly, but Lara and John both knew there was something behind it.
"Thank you, Sherlock," Lara sounded suspicious, but grateful.