Continuing her walk up the street towards the familiar incline of steps, Layne felt herself soften. Before actually laying eyes on her destination, she had steeled her senses for the onslaught of emotions that were sure to follow. Her last stay at the 221B was chaotic to say the least. She could practically smell the tiles filled with pyloric acid from the kitchen, lean into the leather of the couch that wrinkled with little pressure, the fireplace that wreaked vaguely of old cigarette buds. It had been her home through most of her term with Max, and a haven of memories remained there. Stepping up to the door, she noticed the slight chipping around the hinges. Must be new, she thought quietly. Raising a hand to knock, Layne retracted momentarily.

She could turn back. She could take the next cab that rolled up to the main drift and have Mycroft meet her with a new identity and be relocated with her son in less than 24 hours. Perhaps in the Americas? But no, she preferred someplace closer, especially since Sherlock had a tendency to die unexpectedly…

Before she could make a decision, the door opened on its own accord to reveal Mrs. Hudson with a cheeky grin. Before she could recognize her unexpected guest, Mrs. Hudson's gentleman caller appeared from the door, red around his neck. An awkward exchange of apologies followed, while Mr. Boulder (who had barely been introduced) retrieved Layne's rolling suitcase. Dropping her bag on the floor of the entrance, Mrs. Hudson still hadn't time to entirely recollect who the young woman was.

"Now dear, I haven't a room to rent at the moment. Rather odd, just showing up with everything, but let me fix you a cuppa. Honestly, young people just roaming in, asking to shack up, well you certainly picked the place, with those two upstairs…" Layne cracked a smile and gently took hold of Hudson's shoulder.

"Don' t put yourself into such a fret, Martha darling, I'll just be staying with my brother." Sudden clarity popped into Mrs. Hudson's features. Squealing delightfully, she threw her arms around Layne's tall features.

"Layne, my darling girl! Oh I haven't seen you in ages. Oh, oh my goodness well just go on upstairs. Or are you hungry? You're so skinny! Those Holmes genes, must be. Where's the baby? Didn't he come along? I was so upset I missed him last time…"

Layne laughed gently and guided Mrs. Hudson towards her own apartment, the Holmes woman keeping one lanky arm wrapped warmly around the landlady's shoulders.

"I know, we were terribly sorry to have missed you. Also, I hate to disappoint, but I'm afraid my baby isn't quite a baby anymore. He's two and a half, if you can believe. Spitting image of Sherlock, dark curls and all. Listen, I'll have to show you pictures in a bit, but I've got to catch up with the boys. Are they upstairs?"

Mrs. Hudson patted her cheek softly and looked up towards the ceiling.

"I'm afraid Sherlock went out for a bit, down to the morgue a few minutes ago. John's in, though, if you two would want a moment alone…Oh, Horace, just leave her bag there!" Turning back towards Layne, Mrs. Hudson fixed her gaze, "You know John didn't take too well to you leaving, if I remember. Practically heartsick at the time. You two were so…" Layne pressed a finger to Hudson's lips, not too dissimilar from when she silenced Max during one of his tantrums.

"Mrs. Hudson, I was six months pregnant when I showed up here. It wasn't exactly a time for romance. Now, I'll come see you in a bit, alright?" Mrs. Hudson threw her a soft glance and patted her back up the stairs.

Reaching the outside of the infamous flat, Layne chocked back a wave of nausea. So it was just John inside. She could see him barefoot, eating a biscuit and hen-pecking his keyboard, lightly drawing up another case for his blog. She had been tempted to see him after Sherlock's "suicide," lying awake at night and forming soft tears at the thought of his loneliness. She could remember sharing a bed with the doctor more than once during her stay, but always falling asleep on platonic words. Had she been a better person, had she not met him under the terms of an unplanned pregnancy, perhaps…

The door jolted open, revealing a very huffy John. He was still shrugging himself into his coat when he caught her eyes. Being just a couple inches shorter than her, he always exaggerated his stare up and into her sight. He looked for a moment that he might be sick. Instinctively he glanced at her stomach, almost cautiously before he realized how long it had been since their last encounter. Of course her bump had gone, along with the baby weight. Her hips were slender, barely curving out under her waistline. Her hair was laid down her shoulders, draping like crawling ivory over the nape of her breasts. It was dark, like Sherlock. Her eyes, Sherlock's. Everything was so similar to his flatmate's features, except for the smile…

"John," she whispered. Taking a step back, John straightened himself and stood aside, offering an arm wave inside. He licked his lower lip, then paused.

"Layne, my god, hello." Walking in, Layne was not surprised to see the features of the place remained the same. While it was obvious Sherlock was settling in his equipment again, it didn't seem that the dusty imprints of his microscopes had been wiped away. Depositing her bag by the desk, she took a seat on the sofa. John seemed cross momentarily, shaking his phone in the air.

"Sherlock wants me to meet him at a nearby café, fancy a coffee?"

"No," she stated honestly.

"Oh…" John mis-stepped several times before planting himself opposite Layne on the sofa. They stared at one another in complete concentration, before John's hands were unaware they were brushing the lines of Layne's fingernails. Clearing his throat quietly, he spoke.

"You look lovely. Simply, lovely. Well…"

"Thank you, John. You look quite well yourself." Changing his position, John nervously pointed at her stomach.

"So, where's the little guy? I mean, Sherlock told me what you named him I just can't remember—"

"Max. Max is at home. Max is fine. He's with Mycroft, actually. It'll be good for both of them." John nodded, then crinkled his forehead.

"So wait…why are you here?" Layne sighed and stretched her legs out, pressing both palms onto her thighs.

"Mycroft has been keeping me up to date on Sherlock's adventures since it was discovered he was not as deceased as he led all of us to believe. Which, I'm sorry for, by the way. I wanted to come visit you, but…I just didn't know if you would be accepting of the company."

John nodded in acceptance and motioned for her to continue.

"Look, I know what the two of you are planning. Round trip tickets, new luggage, new clothing…you're going after The Web. Well, you're not going alone." John stood quickly.

"Layne, no, you're a mother."

"I'm a sister."

"He can take care of himself!"

"Yes, because he did so well faking his death, that worked out lovely, didn't it?"

"He'll never allow it!"

"I do not need his permission, John Watson, I am his elder!"

"Well so am bloody I, but that hasn't stopped him!" Layne now held her stance tightly against John.

"Look, he would never been in this damn mess if it wasn't for me. Moriarty knew Sherlock because he knew me, and I host the responsibility of keeping my brother safe. I can't imagine how you felt watching him jump from that roof, but when Mycroft told me he was dead…John, my world fell from underneath me. It's all my fault. Sherlock, and you, protected me while I was having Max. You both gave me the chance to have a free life with my son, which I will forever be grateful for. Please, just let me have the chance to return the favor. Please." Her fingers were resting on his wounded shoulder, riding the length of his scar purposefully. Grabbing her hand, he left their embrace there. She leaned in to his head, resting against his hair. John breathed deeply, as if trying to hold to some restrain, some ability to tell her no.

"We're leaving in the morning, you know."

"I know."

"We'll be gone two months."

"I've made arrangements for Max for three, in case we're detained." John locked his jaw, then exhaled.

"Layne…we might not even come back. Do you realize this?" Brushing her fingers over his, she smiled softly.

"I've taken care of those issues, as well. I've settled all debts and I'm ready to go. All that's left is to tell Sherlock." But before John could respond, Layne separated from their strange embrace and stared at the door, petrified. John looked questioningly before hearing the ramblings coming up the hall.

"…honestly, John, I told you thirty minutes ago…wait, she's?" Smacking open the door, Sherlock took in the room before finding Layne, who maneuvered herself into his line of vision. While she fought off tears (he's not dead, Layne, calm) Sherlock's face seemed to falter ungracefully. He knew her intentions immediately and portrayed disgust laced with concern, but only Layne seemed to catch the recognition of sadness. So he had missed her. Gripping his collar, Sherlock moved closer to his sister.

"Layne…you can't go."

"It's already decided, Sherlock. Now give me a hug."

"You're not coming, you ridiculous girl—"

"I am your older sister and I am here to protect you. Now man up and give me a hug before I lose my mind staring at you!" John watched with uncertainty as Sherlock forced his arms open, barely allowing them to cross over her back. Layne leaned into the embrace and whispered to the side of Sherlock's head.

"I blamed myself…for you…I still do."

"Layne, honestly, my life is always in danger. You did nothing—"

"He found you because of me."

"He was already searching for me, you just happened to be…convenient. Moriarty was not your fault, he was already in existence." Layne released Sherlock from the struggle of affection and wiped a hand over the curls watering his forehead.

"Still, I'm here. So, we leave in the morning John said?" Sherlock nodded, moved over her shoulder, barely touching the side of her face.

"I am as alive, Laney, as the last time you saw me. Please, don't cry."

Layne stopped immediately, giving her brother one last brush on the cheek. The three of them remained standing in the living room for a few minutes, mentally resorting their plans for flight. After a moment, John went to put the kettle on. Sherlock settled down in his chair by the fire. Layne picked up her phone from the desk and gently dialed Mycroft's number. She heard giggling on the answer and Mycroft instructing Max talk to Mummy.

"Hello, sweetheart! Mummy's just fine. I'm sitting with your Uncle Sherlock. How are you, my angel? Being good? Yes, well that sounds exciting. Oh, my heart, I love you, too…"