Little Talks Chapter 8

Layla turned to walk away and Lestrade knew that he saw tear tracks on her cheeks. Sherlock's interest was piqued to say the very least, and John suddenly felt sorry for the woman. Sherlock turned to follow the woman, Lestrade and John following closely behind.

"Sherlock, don't upset her further…."

"How do you know her?"

"I thought you were the great Sherlock Holmes. Did you miss the part where I said that I worked with her?"

"In what capacity?"

"Ask your brother."

"I'm asking you."

"So you are."

Layla kept walking, Sherlock trying to get her to talk to him. Finally, he grabbed her arm to stop her, and had to duck because she swung out at him with her right fist.

"Don't touch me."

"Sherlock, back off."

"She knows more than she's saying." Turning his laser-like glare back on her, 'You're American, a recent transplant to London. Based on the fact that you don't want to be forthcoming with any information about the deceased, I would say that you are in witness protection. You know my brother Mycroft, and have all but admitted it. If you were really in any sort of witness protection scheme you wouldn't have let that little bit slip. So, I'm more inclined to believe that you are being stubborn because you feel as though I have insulted you."

"Sherlock, back off. We can talk about this back at the station."

"What are you hiding?"

"Sherlock, I'm warning you."

"What. Are. You. Hiding?"

"Gun!" John dove knocking Sherlock out of the way and Lestrade made a dive for Layla, cupping a hand around the back of her head to keep it from smacking against the ground entirely. Just as John and Lestrade made contact with their marks, shots rang out. The other officers started ducking. Then there was silence. Donovan looked over to Lestrade to make sure he was alright, he looked at her nodding.

John checked Sherlock over and Sherlock was checking John over. Mary had shot him one time, aiming just a bit off out of kindness; if he got John injured or killed he couldn't be so sure about her reaction.

"You alright?" Lestrade asked Layla. She only nodded her head and whispered a quick 'Yes' to let him know that she was alright. As he helped her stand up though, Lestrade saw where she had been grazed by two of the shots; once in the arm and one had grazed her right temple.

"No you're not, you're bleeding."

As Lestrade pulled her completely to her feet, Layla stumbled, "Sorry, I don't really do well with blood."

"Medic! We'll make them come to you, how about that?" Layla nodded her head with a forlorn look in her eyes; she kept looking back over to where the body was at, watching as it was covered in a tarp. Her forehead wrinkled deeply as she tried to control her emotions. Lestrade helped her sit down on the stretcher that the EMT's brought over. She didn't even seem to flinch when they started dabbing a disinfectant on her wounds to bandage them.

John came closer to help out, the doctor in him taking over where the soldier left off; he could see her hands and bottom lip tremble.

"Are you going to be alright?"

"Doesn't matter. They'll just come for me again."

"We'll just have to make sure that doesn't happen then won't we."

Layla just bowed her head as the medics continued to work, the ground suddenly holding some interest for her. After checking with the medics that she was being well cared for, John walked back over to where Lestrade was chatting with Donovan and Sherlock; well it was more like refereeing.

"Lestrade, what's her story?" John asked innocently enough.

"Boss is her minder while the psycho's brother is occupied." Donovan sort of nodded between Lestrade and Layla as she spoke.

"Thank you Sgt. Donovan, but I wasn't asking you," John replied curtly. "Greg?"

"First let's take this elsewhere. After what just happened I would like to be somewhere a bit safer."

Sherlock just rolled his eyes. "Fine we can go back to…."

"Baker Street. I want to go back to Baker Street." Layla was finally standing, albeit a bit wobbly, holding on to the arm of one of the medics.

"I think we should take you back to Mycroft's."

Layla was not happy with Lestrade's idea; she wanted to get back to Baker Street. Yes, Mycroft's home was better from a safety standpoint. But Baker Street was quickly becoming home to her, and that is where she wanted to be. But she knew Lestrade wouldn't give in; and depending on Mycroft's network, he would already be hearing about what happened, and he would suggest the same thing. So, after considering her options, and finding that she had none, Layla nodded her head in agreement.

Lestrade walked her to his car, somehow she wound up sandwiched between Sherlock and John, and drove them all back to Mycroft's 'humble' abode. On the car ride over there, Layla's eyes kept drooping, she was tired, whatever adrenaline she had was on fumes, but she was getting rather upset because John wouldn't let her sleep.

Upon pulling up at the house, the party of four quickly made their way inside the building, Higgins meeting them in the sitting room with a first aid kit.

"I took the liberty Dr. Watson; I didn't know what you might need."

"Thank you Higgins. It probably wouldn't hurt to change the dressings in a couple of hours. Can we get some tea and maybe a couple of biscuits to help calm her nerves a bit…and to make Sherlock eat something at least?"

"Certainly, I will only be a moment."

Layla kept looking at the TV screen like it was the devil incarnate as she sat on the sofa, about to lie down before John stopped her from doing so.

"Please, I just want to close my eyes for a moment."

"I don't know if that would be the best idea."

"John, she has a bullet wound, not a concussion. Let her at least lie down, yeah." Lestrade was trying.

"Well alright, but I'm watching you. If I think things are getting dicey, I'm shaking you."

Layla agreed and stretched out on the sofa finally, her eyes shutting almost immediately.

But before she could drift very far into any semblance of sleep, 'How do you know about Baker Street?"

Layla heard Sherlock's deep Baritone rumble.

"I bought a property; your brother told me it belonged to your family, but that it had been left rather derelict for ages. Do you recognize the address….221B Baker St?"

"How did you come to know my brother?"

Layla pulled the old journal out of her bag that had since been tossed down beside the sofa.

"It belonged to another Dr. Watson. I found it at the flat.' Her voice was taking on a more drowsy effect, 'I asked the old Dr. Watson to send someone to watch over me. By the next morning your brother was standing on the front stoop waiting for me to come home offering his help."

With that Layla closed her eyes. She was so blasted tired; had been for weeks. If she could just sleep….all she wanted was a few uninterrupted hours of peaceful sleep; she hadn't had that since the day she found Flavia's body in her apartment those couple of months ago.

Higgins came back into the room, setting the tea service as well as two paracetamol down on the coffee table, along with the biscuits that John had requested.

"Thank you, Higgins."

"Not a problem, Dr. Watson. I have food in the kitchen that had been meant for dinner earlier, but under the circumstances, plans were altered. I can whip something up for those of you who would like to eat at this time."

"That might be nice. Thanks."

"Inspector Lestrade, would you care for any? I can also make sure there is enough for the young lady in case she would like to eat when she wakes."

"Yes, please. Thank you."

"But of course. The three of you should make yourselves comfortable. And if I may be so bold…?"

"Yes Higgins?" Sherlock finally broke away from watching Layla sleeping.

"Might I recommend that the three of you all stay here tonight? If the wounds on Miss Adler are any indication, it might be too dangerous to leave just now. At least wait until the morning. Besides, if not for your own safety, having extra eyes and ears for her safety might not go amiss."

John seemed to think this over, 'Yeah. Alright." Then John turned to one of the security cameras posted up in the corner of the ceiling, 'I want my wife and daughter brought under the safety of this house, please, Mycroft." Sherlock snickered at John's technique.

Lestrade grabbed the sports section of the newspaper, beating John to it which earned him a grumble, and grabbed his cup of tea. John made do with the political section; might as well see what hornet's nest Mycroft was stirring up from behind the curtain.

Sherlock had been pacing around the room, deep in thought, when he suddenly broke the silence.

"Wait! Higgins called her Miss Adler."

"Yes, I believe he did." Lestrade was eyeing Sherlock suspiciously.

"Why?"

"That's her last name Sherlock. He was being polite. I know that's a foreign concept but really…"

"Oh shut up Grant."

"And we're back here again."

"Sherlock, why does it matter what her last name is?"

"Something….I have to think."

Mumbling from her place on the sofa, 'Good, then that should keep you quiet for what….an hour? Please shut up, my head is pounding, and if you keep yelling I am pretty sure it will physically split open. And I have a cop with a gun, just there. He'll shoot you if I tell him to." Without even moving, Layla went back to some form of sleep, shutting her eyes ever so carefully against the agony of her head.

"I really will Sherlock." Lestrade muttered as soon as Layla grew quiet again.

Sherlock walked out into the foyer of the home, looking into the corner and carefully enunciating, 'Call. Me. Now. Brother. Mine." And then mere seconds later, his mobile rang.

"Yes, Sherlock, what can I do for you today?"

"The girl you have stashed in your house…."

"What about her? Maybe I wanted my own little gold fish."

"Oh please, that's what you have Graham for."

"Be specific Sherlock. And do make it quick; diplomacy waits for nobody."

"Did you know her name?"

"Layla, yes. Lovely name, you don't hear it so often."

"Don't be an ass…."

"I would never…."

"Her last name, Adler…..Do you think…?"

"I have asked her the very same thing, but she knows nothing of her background, so I have some of my people digging."

"She told you she knows nothing and you believed her?"

"It's genuine. Why don't you ask her?"

"You know very well why."

"Then ask Gregory. I'm sure he knows more than what he's letting on."

"Where are you today?" Sherlock was pinching the bridge of his nose with the thumb and forefinger of his right hand.

"Why should I tell you?"

"So I could come and knock the pompous grin off of your face. I know you have one, it's perennial."

"Goodbye Sherlock."

Walking back into the sitting room, 'Am I really as much of an insufferable ass as Mycroft?"

A chorus of 'YES!' was heard to come from Layla and Lestrade, and John pitched in with 'WORSE'.

"Look, let's go into the kitchen to discuss this a bit yeah. We can still keep an eye on her from there but at least we won't disturb her as much. Come on Sherlock, you want answers and Lestrade won't play nice until you do."

Sherlock sighed, heavily put upon, but ultimately he followed John and Lestrade into the kitchen. As soon as they got past the doorway, he turned on Lestrade.

"What is going on Gavin?"

Lestrade rolled his eyes but began to explain about Layla.

"She's from America, obviously. She was orphaned at the age of 6 or 7, I think, when her parents were both killed in an auto accident of some sort. She spent the rest of her childhood growing up in group homes and foster care. She was apparently never permanently adopted. She knows almost nothing about her family."

"Poor girl,' John's sympathetic nature helped to alleviate Sherlock's abrasiveness. "What brought her to London?"

"She had been working in the cyber-crimes division of the FBI. Apparently she stumbled into a hornet's nest. Whoever was angry at her sent her all sorts of nasty messages in her email or even cryptic messages online in general, most of which she ignored; she thought if she kept working hard enough she could catch them before anything really bad happened.

She was wrong. One day she went to her friend, Flavia's, flat. When she went inside she found her friend had been butchered. She described it as looking a lot like the Black Dahlia crime scene, just indoors.

Layla said as soon as she saw what had happened to her friend, she ran out of the flat and got some emergency cash and her passport, etc. and jumped the first flight to London she could find."

"Yes, but why London?" Sherlock was ever curious.

"She said that, as a little girl, she had always dreamed of living here. So this was the first place she thought of. I met her on the plane that day ironically enough. I wasn't able to think of much else for weeks after. But after that day on the plane, I had no idea where she was or even who she really was. Until her association with Mycroft."

"How did she come by the property at Baker Street?"

"She had been renting some small little bed-sit or something and decided it was time, after several months, to purchase a home. She said that she had never had a real home, and the way things looked, she wouldn't be able to go back to America anytime soon. She said she wanted something that was so painfully London, and that when the real estate agent showed her Baker Street, she demanded that she have it right away. She offered to pay cash.

That's how she came into contact with Mycroft. She said that she was so excited that she spent the night there after moving her suitcases over from her bed-sit. She had to go out the next morning bright and early to go back to her bed-sit and get a shower and to a café to have some breakfast, etc. When she got back to Baker Street, Mycroft was standing on the front steps waiting for her.

Knowing how your brother does things, he probably followed her all over town on his cameras so he would know just exactly when to be back there before her. I think he scared her to death when they first met. She thought the people who were hunting her had sent him and blacked out from panic. Once she learned who he was and that he wasn't sent to kill her, she calmed down and listened to a bit of reason."

"So, then, that body turns up on the river banks, she knows the victim, and she is shot at while at the crime scene in full view of members of NSY. Seems like her hunters have found her."

"John, I don't think they ever lost her. I think they've been biding their time. For what I do not know."

"How did you come to know of her existence here at Mycroft's?"

"I was at a previous crime scene….' Lestrade took a moment to lean back and look through the door into the living room to check on her, 'and I got a text from your brother to get here immediately, that it was an emergency. I get here, Higgins allows me inside, and I found her huddled on the landing of the stair case absolutely terrified. She was screaming and shaking, white as a sheet. Something or someone had scared her bad enough that when I beat on the door, she must have thought they were coming after her here. Mycroft sent me a message shortly before we left here, that I should give some consideration to staying here until further notice and therefore should go home and pack a bag. I took her with me, not letting her out of my sight. We wound up back at the precinct, in my office. I don't know who to trust in London, outside of the two of you and Mycroft. I didn't dare leave her care to anyone on the squad in case whoever is behind this has gotten to them."

Nothing further could be said; Layla was tossing and turning on the sofa. Lestrade went back into the living room and put his hand on her shoulder to try to shake her, to wake her up. Layla sat up like she was on a spring board, part of her hair tumbling down over her face as her momentum stopped.

"NO!" Her breathing was heavy as if she had just got done running a marathon. Immediately she regretted her movement, grabbing her head and falling back over onto the pillow that had been behind her head. Layla rolled her body over to where she was facing the back of the sofa, burying her face against it to help shut out the light.

"What was the nightmare about?" Lestrade asked carefully.

"It was noth…nothing."

"It was something."

Layla took a deep breath, rolling back over to stand up, 'I'm going to my room." She stood up holding her head in one hand and wobbling, a bit unsteady. When Lestrade offered to aid her she indicated that she didn't need the help and carefully made her way to the stairs.

She had to stop at the bottom of the stairs; it was too much of a daunting task, she was light headed.

Leaning, resting her left temple against the wall, she called out for help.

"What's wrong love?"

"Dizzy. So dizzy. There's so many damned stairs."

"Come on. I'll give you an arm then." Layla nodded her agreement; but as they began up the stairs, she wobbled a bit. She laughed a little, it almost sounded like someone that had a couple of pints and was a bit lit.

"Are you putting me on?" Lestrade couldn't help but chuckle.

"It's the headache medicine. I don't like taking medicine." She sounded a bit small as Lestrade swept her up and carried her up the rest of the stairs.

As Lestrade put her on the bed he happened to notice a scar that wrapped from just around her hip to up part of her back. Running his finger along it, causing her to flinch a bit, he asked where she got it from.

"Uh, nobody…' she rubbed her nose with a curled hand, 'it was just one of the foster dads; liked to play rough, I guess. Doesn't matter."

"Yes it does."

As she turned her back to Lestrade, Layla mumbled, 'never has before." With that she at least pretended to fall asleep, effectively ending any further conversation on the matter.

With the subject dropped for the moment, Lestrade began looking around the room; Layla had told him he should see her room. Walking over to the vanity, he spotted some photographs that were scattered on top. There were several of them that had Layla in them with another lovely dark haired young woman; that must have been Flavia. She was a beauty, as Layla had said she was; Lestrade still preferred Layla though. There were some pictures that had Layla and Flavia in them with a rather handsome young man; must have been Flavia's boyfriend. He even found a couple copies of pregnancy scans; Layla said that Flavia had been expecting a baby, looks like she gave Layla copies of some of the scans to keep…perhaps she was going to be the godmother or something.

Looking back over at the bed where Layla was supposed to be sleeping, he noticed that she was in fact watching him.

"Told ya the room was huge. I'll bet you could fit the entire flat that I was living in when I first moved to London in this room."

"You just wanted to get away from Sherlock?"

"Am I that transparent?"

"He does that to people. You're not the first."

"Mycroft said that Sherlock would likely want to have access to the books that are currently stored at 221B Baker St. I thought I would have a key made for him so he wouldn't have to worry about breaking in."

"In truth, Sherlock would rather break in. It would help him hone his lock-picking skills and keep him sharp. However, considering your circumstances, having someone breaking into your home would be out of the question."

"Indeed." She sat up, sliding down out of the bed watching Lestrade.

"You recover quickly."

"Well, I was a little woozy, just not as much as I would have the others believe. But, yeah, Sherlock was trying my patience. I thought it bad form to do him harm, considering that his brother is my benefactor. You have something you want to ask me."

"Are you sure you're not related to the Holmes brothers? It's eerie the way that you can do that sometimes."

"At this point anything is possible. Since I don't know anything about where my family came from...Ask your question."

"Would you like to go out sometime? It doesn't have to be anything serious if you don't want. It's just that I have thought of little else since I met you that day on the plane."

"Are you sure you really want to be seen with me? I mean, just earlier tonight someone tried to take me out. It could be dangerous."

Holding his hand out for her to take it and then shaking her hand, 'Hello. Det. Inspector Greg Lestrade. I often allow Sherlock Holmes to consult on cases."

"And?"

"And, just standing next to him is dangerous most days."

"You make a valid point with that."

"Besides, if Mycroft was to know that we wanted to go anywhere, he would just send a few of his shadows with us." He watched as Layla began scanning the floor for anything else that might seem interesting.

"True. Let me think about it, yeah." She walked over to the huge bank of windows on one wall, 'That's a hell of a view. Living at the top must be pretty nice."

Coming up beside her, wrapping an arm around her shoulder, 'I wouldn't know. It is a brilliant view though."

"Yeah. Not too shabby. How pissed do you think Mycroft would be if I decided to never leave?"

"You wouldn't abandon Baker Street would you?"

"Hmmm. No, not really. I love it there I think. The books…the journals I mean…and just the house itself. It's one of those places that you almost wish walls could talk….sometimes I think if you're quiet enough, and listen carefully, they do."

"What have they told you so far?"

"Not much, yet. Although, I would swear on a stack of bibles that I heard the word 'Irrelevant!' being yelled out the other night. But I can't be sure, I was half asleep, and sometimes my imagination can run away from me. It could have been just wishful thinking I guess."

Lestrade chuckled as they gazed out of the window a bit more at the park in front of them. Mycroft's home was one of those upscale places that looked out over St. James Park. The view of the park from her window seemed to please Layla. He watched her looking around, taking in the bit of London that she could see from the window.

"Greg,' Layla ducked from under his arm, and began to push him back away from the window. "Get away from the window, get down. Now!" using what strength she might have she was able to shove Lestrade off balance enough to knock him over. That's when a shot rang out shattering the window. Lestrade grabbed Layla and rolled to the side out of view of the window.

Downstairs, Sherlock and John had heard the noise and came running up the stairs.

"Is everyone alright?" John asked quickly.

"In one piece Dr." Lestrade replied quickly, still trying to get his breath.

"There was a shooter on the roof of the building to the right, roughly fifty degrees to the right."

John, staying a bit to the side of the window sill, looked out and up, 'Got him."

Levelling his Sig to just the right angle, he began to take aim.

"John, that's a long shot, even for you." Sherlock could be heard to say as he helped Lestrade get Layla well back out of range.

"Cabbie," Was all John said as he took his shot. "Damn, I'm good."

"What is it John?"

"Man down."

Lestrade got on his phone and called Donovan.

"I need you to get over here. Mycroft's neighborhood, the building a few doors down. Bring a few extra men with you. We will need a medical examiner on the roof of that building."

About that time, there was a knock at the door; Higgins could be heard greeting Mary.

"Oh God that was close,' John mumbled as he raced down the stairs.