"Why can't people just think?" — Sherlock Holmes

Chapter Eleven:

The next day, Leona stayed at the apartment again. She sat at Sherlock's feet on the sofa, eating plain pancakes. Sherlock was watching the television with intense precision, his eyes occasionally darting to Leona, as if checking she were still there.

Leona usually liked watching the telly, her attention span enamoured by the people, or cartoon characters darting around the screen. However, today, she did not like it. She wanted Sherlock to play with her, to talk to her, but all he wanted to do was watched the telly, like everyone else was, like Uncle Mycroft had. It annoyed her, but there was nothing she could do about it, but listen. Most of the things they said she hadn't understood anyway.

"Ladies and gentlemen of the jury," the woman in a black dress spoke coolly to the other people inside of the telly. Leona wondered how so many people got stuck in a tiny screen like theirs. It seemee impossible to her. "James Moriarty stands accused of several counts of attempted burglary, crimes which --- if he’s found guilty --- will elicit a very long custodial sentence; and yet his legal team has chosen to offer no evidence whatsoever to support their plea. I find myself in the unusual position of recommending a verdict wholeheartedly. You must find him guilty." A murmuring went through the crowd inside the telly. They all were saying something along the lines of the same thing. A small group of people shuffled out of thr room, the people's word made their shoulders sag with the weight of their guilty.

"Guilty. You must find him guilty."

The television was silent for several minutes, and even Leona felt the anxiety, although she was not physically in the room. She even felt Sherlock tense up as he watched the screen, which was probably the thing that scared her most. Sherlock, probably the bravest person she knew, was scared of a telly --- although, it was what was on the telly that scared him.

But, as quickly as they left, the telly switched back over to the people who were slowly shuffling back in. The camera zoomed in on their sullen faces. "Have you reached a verdict on which you all agree?" A man asked, once the people had all finally came in.

A woman stood, and said, "Not guilty." Immediately, everyone began talking, camera snapped pictures, people in a complete uproar.

Sherlock grabbed the remote and turned off the television. He stood just as his phone rang. Sherlock took it out, then, surprisingly, handed it to Leona. She grinned eagerly, although John frequently let her fiddle with his phone, she was never allowed to touch Sherlock's. She fiddled with it for a moment before figuring out how to answer it.

John's voice came through immediately. "Not Guilty. They found him not guilty. No defence, and Moriarty’s walked free," John began to talk faster, more panicked. "Sherlock. Are you listening? He’s out. You--You know he’ll be coming after you. Sherlock."

"Jon?" Leona said, the fear in his voice frightened her. "What mean Mor-Tary?"

"Le--Leona?! Why... Nevermind, give the phone to Sherlock, I---" Sherlock gently clicked the phone off, taking it from her.

"Go to my room, and colour in there," Sherlock told her.

"What wrong? Why Jon say Mor-tary? Is---?"

"Leona," Sherlock was stern, but not angry. Leona frowned, scared, and Sherlock let out a soft sigh. "Go in my room. I'll call you out later. You may do whatever you want in there, but you have to stay there, alright?"

"Leona scared. Shee get hurt?"

"No, I won't. And neither will you if you listen." Leona nodded, then huggrd Sherlock tight around his waist.

"Don' get hurt. Leona no like Shee hurt," she told him, and he nodded, then shooed her off. Leona grabbed her crayons and papers, and left the room.

Leona sat on Sherlock's bed and closed the door silently. Then, she curled in the blankets. She heard someone enter the apartment and was tempted to come out, despite Sherlock's strict instructions. She didn't leave his room, although, she sat as close to the door as she could, hoping to get snippets of the conversation, but that was no use either.

Leona sighed, going back to the bed. The springs in the mattress beneath her was fun to play with, and made her giggle slightly. She liked how she could bounce as hard as she wanted on the bed. Leona even took out her wings --- closing the curtains too of course --- and began to jump on his bed, definitely ruining the neat covers.

Leona stopped jumping after about five minutes, and just sat down, resting. But she quickly changed activities and began to colour on the wood floor, making elaborate illustrations of her and John having fun in places like the park, or the big outside tubs Leona saw on the telly. She even made one for the count too, but she didn't think they were as good as the others.

After nearly twenty minutes of silence and solidarity, Sherlock came to the door. Leona jumped up, excited and happy to see him. "Shee!" She cried, running over and wrapping her arms around him. She immediately sniffed him, checking for blood, then inspected his hands. After that, she climbed up his back, checked his face, to be sure.

"Leona what are you doing?" Sherlock demanded, a bit annoyed.

"Shee no hurt," she gave a sigh of relief. "Mor-tary here?"

"No, he left." Leona nodded, sighing again. She dropped from his back, and wrapped her arms around his hands. "Come along then, let's make lunch."

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Two months has passed since Moriarty’s trial, and there was no sign of danger. Sherlock and John were allowing Leona to leave the house more, so she was allowed to play in the park, chase after birds that were resting, and even climb trees. However, she was not allowed to show her wings. This rule upset Leona a little. She hadn't gone flying in months and she missed it. Leona also hadn't seen a Whitecoat during this time either, but that was a good thing, she supposed.

Leona sat silently on the couch, practicing her words --- she was getting pretty good at them. Sherlock was in the kitchen, stirring a strange liquid that was sizzling slightly. Leona looked up. "Shee?" Sherlock turned to her. "Leona thirsty." He nodded and grabbed a clean beaker, and filled it with water. He was about to hand it to her, but stopped short.

"You are what?"

"Thirsty," she repeated.

"I am thirsty," he corrected.

"Leona am thirsty," Sherlock nodded, it was close enough, and gave her the water. She giggled, and began to drink.

"What do you say?"

"Thank you Shee." Satisfied, Sherlock turned back to his work. A few moments later, there was a knock on the door. Leona quickly put her wings away, as Sherlock moved to open it.

There was a man and a woman at the door, ones that Leona recognized. She didn't remember the man's name, but the woman's was stuck in her memory. Sally. She called herself Sally before she shot her. Well, shot at her, since she missed.

Sally smiled at her, and she gave her a relucantant look. Leona got up, and ran over to Sherlock, hiding behind him. She frowned now, and gave a small glare to Sherlock, who promptly ignored it. The other man and Sherlock kept talking, and moved away from the door way. Sherlock motioned for her to go sit back down and do her letters, so she did.

Leona desperately wanted to take out her wings and hide herself in them, but decided that she might get in a lot of trouble if she did. So, she simply sat and continued to write, silently.

A few minutes after that, John arrived. Leona got up quickly, abandoning her letters again to jump at him and hug John around the neck. "Jon!" She cried, and John laughed.

"Hello, love," he chuckled. He looked around, finally noticing the others in the room. "What's going on?"

"Kidnapping," Sherlock said before going to his computer.

"Rufus Bruhl, the ambassador to the U.S," the old man explained easily.

"He’s in Washington, isn’t he?" John said, confused. Leona squirmed out from his grip and ran over to Sherlock, leaning over the arm of his chair to see what he was doing on the computer. Although she didn't understand the contents, she thoroughly enjoyed watching it, move, as if it were magic, and giggled when he clicked from page to page.

"Not him --- his children, Max and Claudette, age seven and nine," Sally stepped forward, handing John a photograph. "They’re at St Aldate’s."

"Posh boarding place down in Surrey," Sally supplied, and the older man continued.

Leona was getting bored listening to the conversation. "Shee take Leona to park?" Leona asked curiously.

"If you speak five proper sentences tomorrow, then yes, for an hour," Sherlock promised and Leona beamed, excited. "But, only after you finish your letters, and numbers too." Leona nodded, still excited, bouncing on the balls of her feet. "Go get your coat, we have to go out tonight."

Leona nodded again, and ran to the coatrack, grabbing her small coat that Mycroft brought her as a gift. It was beautiful and as brown as her skin. The inside was soft and kept her very warm, and she liked it. He even had the back of it changed so she could push her wings through if she needed too.

Leona giggled as she hopped down the steps, eager to leave.

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Leona sat at the window, watching the scenery fly by her with admiration and awe. She had never been in this kind of car before, but she still loved it.

"Did you ever find her parents?" Sally asked, and Leona turned. She was obviously taking to John and Sherlock, but her question was about her, so she listened.

"No. There's no birth certificate either, which isn't much of a shocker," John explained.

"Then, where did she come from?" Sally asked.

"Leona from School," Leona said, wanting to contribute in the conversation about her. "Leona no mom and dad, only Whitecoats." John winced, bringing Leona to his lap.

"Whitecoat?" Sally rose an eyebrow, now actually looking at Leona. "What's that?"

"A scientist," John explained. "Or, that's what we think. She was experimented on, which caused the... You know."

"Wings?" John nodded. "I haven't seen them since we came, where are they?"

"Hidden," John replied quickly. "Underneath her shirt. We... Didn't want anyone recognizing her and trying to take her away,"

"Who would do that? The scientists?"

"When did this become an interview?" Sherlock asked from the front passager's seat. He couldn't stand sitting with Sally, and --- for once --- she hadn't protested.

"They are simple questions, she's an interesting kid."

"You'll have to hold them until later," The old man spoke. "We're here."

John took Leona's hand, helping her out of the car, and Leona giggled eagerly. Leona watched curiously as a woman was crying softly, dabbing at her eyes with a white clothe. Sherlock began to talk, an angry countenance plastered on her face.

"Miss Mackenzie, you’re in charge of pupil welfare, yet you left this place wide open last night," He glared at her. "What are you: an idiot, a drunk or a criminal?" Sherlock yanked the blankets from around her shoulders and get eyes widened with fear and terror. "Now quickly, tell me!"

"All the doors and windows were properly bolted," she blurted, the words spilling from her lips. "No one --- not even me --- went into their room last night. You have to believe me!"

Sherlock's angry face disappeared and he smiled gently at her. "I do. I just wanted you to speak quickly," he turned to call over his shoulder. "Miss Mackenzie will need to breathe into a bag now!"

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John held Leona's hand as they followed the old man inside the big building, Sherlock standing beside them. John spoke quietly to Sherlock as they walked, "Six grand a term," he said, with a small whistle as they entered a room. "You’d expect them to keep the kids safe for you. You said the other kids had all left on their holidays?"

Sherlock hadn't said anything. He put on a pair of all too familiar blue latex gloves, and dropped to his knees as he inspected a bookcase. The room was a but large, and had strange fluffy objects near large trunks and small bookcases. There was a strange rug on the floor as well. It was very brightly coloured and had a few shapes on it. The windows were wide, but the curtains were drawn, letting little light inside. 

"They were the only two sleeping on this floor," Lestrade said, watching him as he picked up a strange stick with a net at the end. "Absolutely no sign of a break-in. The intruder must have been hidden inside some place."

Sherlock went to a wooden trunk, looking at the strange books inside. Leona peered over at him, curious at the books as well. She had never seen books with such strange drawings on them. Leona assumed all the books were like Sherlock's back at 221B, thick and bland.

Sherlock glanced at a few, then closed the trunk, hiding the books away again. "Show me where the brother slept," He ordered. Lestrade turned, and they followed him down a hall shortly.

When they turned, Leona's nose irritated, a sharp, strange scent made her sniff. Then, she let out a short sneeze. "Bless you," John said, but she did it again. John chuckled, ruffling her hair, and she rubbed her nose, shifting her wings as she shuddered.

The strange scent is stronger as they entered the room, and Sherlock inspected this one as much as he did the other. Then, he began to speak, "The boy sleeps there every night, gazing at the only light source outside in the corridor," he began, glancing around the room, looking from the window to the bed. "He’d recognise every shape, every outline, the silhouette of everyone who came to the door."

"Okay, so...?" Lestrade said, waiting for him to finish. Leona sneezed again, and John blessed her.

"So someone approaches the door who he doesn’t recognise," Sherlock continued. "An intruder. Maybe he can even see the outline of a weapon." Sherlock left the room and stood outside the blurry window of the door to demonstrate. He two fingers and s thumb up to symbolise a gun, then came back into the room. "What would he do in the precious few seconds before they came into the room? How would he use them if not to cry out?"

Leona sneezed again, her eyes watering. "This little boy; this particular little boy... who reads all of those spy books. What would he do?" He picked up a few objects that had been strewn about, then, he held one to Leona. "Sniff this." It was a small fluffy object that she didn't recognize. She did, then had to turn away, sneezing again, and wiping her nose.

"Why is she sneezing? Is she allergic to something?" The old man asked.

"No, her nose is just extremely sensitive," Sherlock said. Then, looked underneath the bed, and picked up a half empty bottle. "Get Anderson."

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Leona was given strange mask to wear over her mouth and nose as she stood silently in the room, as people came and left. The mask helped her breathe easier, and stopped her sneezing.

Then, a tall man came in and Leona saw Sherlock tense, and his eyes narrow. He didn't seem to like this man at all. Sherlock had had the same reaction when Sally entered a room.

The windows were closed with wooden shutters and the lights turned off. Then, Sherlock turned a blue light at the wall, and two words Leona had to sound out quietly to herself in order to understand. "H... He... Hel... Help... Uh... Ss... Uh-s. Help us." John turned, having heard her read the words, and smiled, giving her a small nod, and she beamed.

"Linseed oil," Sherlock said, and the tall man scoffed.

"Not much use," he said. "Doesn’t lead us to the kidnapper."

"Brilliant, Anderson," Sherlock said, and the man, Anderson, looked a bit surprised.

"Really?"

"Yes. Brilliant impression of an idiot." Anderson narrowed his eyes, angered. "The floor," Sherlock said, turning his blue light down. There were big blue yellow footprints on the wooden floor, along with slightly smaller ones beside them. A few looked ragged, as if they has been dragged against the floor. It led all the way into the hall, which explained Leona's sneezing.

"He made a trail for us!" John said, surprised.

"The boy was made to walk ahead of them," Sherlock said, watching the footprints and walking slowly.

"On what, tiptoe?" John asked, looking at how irregularly shaped they were.

"Indicates anxiety; a gun held to his head," Sherlock's eyes flitted to the side, were the footprints looked jagged, almost. "The girl was pulled beside him, dragged sideways. He had his left arm cradled about her neck."

Sherlock and John walked a few steps more, then stopped when the footprints did. Leona and Anderson were behind them, Leona curious and Anderson smug. "That’s the end of it," Anderson said, arms crossed over his chest as if he had just won an argument. "We don’t know where they went from here. Tells is nothing after all."

"You're right, Anderson, nothing," Sherlock agreed, then drew in a deep breath. "Except his shoe size, his height, his gait, his walking pace."

Sherlock began to get to work, taking down a few of the black long papers covering the windows, and chuckling softly to himself. John bent down to whisper something to him, and he stopped smiling. Leona watched carefully as the others walked about to, measuring the footprints and taking pictures. Leona stood near the side, silently, waiting until the two decided of was time to go home.

The tall man, Anderson was talking to someone, then sent them on their way. He glanced around a bit before his eyes fell on hers. Leona blinked, but he rose an eyebrow. "Why is this kid here?" He asked, and John looked up.

"That's my neice. We couldn't get a sitter," He lied near automatically.

"Well, she can't be in here. She'll have to wait outside," Anderson said matter-of-factly, then gave John a look, as if he were dumb.

"Outside?" Leona repeated, confused. She never had to wait outside usually. Sherlock and John were always alright if she simply stayed quiet and didn't touch anything, which she did. Had she done something wrong?

"Yes, outside. This is a crime scene and we can't have children in the way," He made a swatting motion with his hands, as if he were trying to kill a pesky fly.

"She isn't bothering anyone by simply standing there, leave her be," Sherlock said, not looking up from his work.

"I don't care, I want her gone."

"Leona can help," Leona said, and he turned to her, an eyebrow raised.

"'Leona can help'? Why is she talking in third person?"

"That's... Just how she talks," John said. "Leona, love, could you please wait over there?" Leona nodded, being especially careful not to step on any of the glowing footprints she saw earlier. With the daylight now shining in the room, it made them harder to spot. Luckily, she could still smell them a little, and was able to steer around it.

Leona glanced down the hall, where the older man was on the cellphone. He glamced over at her, and smiled, then went back to his call.

Leona sat down, tapping on her knees. She wanted to help, but the tall man wouldn't let her. Leona sighed, she didn't quite know what was going on, anyway. She knew the children in that room were gone --- their scent was recent, but began to fade, and it was a strange one at that.

Leona sighed, wishing she brought paper and crayons. Or, her letters so she could at least study. Then, maybe John would get her a book, like the colourful ones she saw in the trunk.

Leona sighed, drawing her knees to her chest, and watched as the old man turned off his phone and walked over, smiling. "Hi, Leona." 

Leona was hesitant for a moment, she remembered the look of shock he gave her when he saw her wings for the first time. Would he be like Sally, who she thought was nice like Ms. Hudson? Would he try to shoot her?

Leona decided to stay wary, her knees drawn in case she had to run. "Hello..." She murmured.

"What are you doing over here?" He asked curiously.

"Jon ask Leona stay here 'cause Mister Tall Man upset," Leona explained.

"'Mister Tall Man'?" Leona nodded, then turned to the hall, where Anderson was, ordering an intern to do something. She looked a bit flustered, but nodded fervently. "Anderson," the old man chuckled, amused.

"And-dear-sun?" Leona repeated, sounding out the name slowly. It was strange, but she tried it again. "And... Erson. Anderson?"

"Yep," The old man grinned. "Anderson. I'm Lestrade, by the way. Greg Lestrade."

"Les... Les... Tra? Lesra?"

"And you're Leona," Lestrade said with a smirk.

Leona grinned, she knew her name, "Leona!"

"It's nice to properly meet you, Leona," Lestrade held his hand out for her. Leona stared at it, then, slowly took his finger, gently shaking it, and the dropped her hand as if she were just burned.

Lestrade grinned, and John and Sherlock came out of the hall. "Greg, could you do us a favour and bring her back to the station when you leave?" John asked, "Sherlock and I are going down to Bart's hospital, and... Well, it's very likely that she wouldn't do well in that sort of environment." Leona looked at him oddly, she didn't know what a hospital was.

"Yes, of course. What time will you be back?" Lestrade asked.

John shrugged, "Hour, maybe two." Lestrade nodded, and John gave him a grateful smile. "Thank you."

"My pleasure," He shrugged, and Sherlock and John hurried off.

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The drive back to the station was quiet. Lestrade and Sally spoke and Leona stared out the window, her face pressed against the glass, giggling softly to herself. Finally, Sally turned and asked her, "What are you laughing about?" Her tone was teasing and light. For a moment, Leona forgot she was in a car with strangers.

"People! People look funny!" Leona giggled, causing the two adults to chuckle as well.

"How so?" Sally asked.

"People wear lots of colours! Leona no see lot of colours! Lots of colours pretty!"

Sally was still smiling as she ssked Leona, "Why don't you see lots of colours?"

"Whitecoats no like lots of colours," Leona told them, a bit more quietly. "Whitecoats like white, black, grey. Leona never see so many colours until Leona see people."

Sally gave Lestrade a look, but he shrugged and shook his head, there wasn't much he could do about it.

Leona was silent all the way to the Yard. Then, Lestrade helped her out of the car, and held her hand gently as he led her inside.

Leona stayed very close to Greg as they entered, shocked by all of the people. They were either walking around in the same coloured outfits, or sitting at a desk typing. A few were younger than the adults with angry expressions their face. A few men and women looked up when Greg entered and smiled.

"Hey, Greg," A few greeted, exchanging handshakes and a few words. Leona stayed behind Greg, trying carefully to be as small as possible. A few spotted her and her shyness, but didn't say anything on it.

Finally, they made it to a very cluttered office. Greg pulled up a chair for her to sit, and then sat at his desk. "What would you like to do?" Greg asked curiously. "There isn't a lot of games here, but I'm sure we can find few books to read. Then again, those probably won't be very interesting either." He chuckled and Leona glanced around, thinking.

"Can... Leona colour?" Leona asked curiously, and Greg nodded. He pulled out a few sheets of paper and a pencil, since he said he didn't have crayons. Leona was fine, and scribbled all over the paper. She lied on her stomach, drawing against the hard floor silently. For nearly ten minutes, she and Greg were quiet, until a short beeping caught her ears, and paper was expended from the printer. The words were in all caps, and bolded.

Leona picked it up and looked at it. "Hu... Hurr... Y... Hurr-why... U--Up... Th... The... They-ere... D... Why... Ing. Hurr-why up, they-ere d-why-ing," Lestrade looked up from his desk.

"What are you reading?" He asked, and Leona showed him the paper. His eyes darkened immediately as they roamed the page. His brow furrowing, and he called Sally into his office. He showed the paper to her and she sighed.

"It's about the kids," she sighed.

"We wait until Sherlock gets back," Greg said. "He'll have some information for us."