"Your best friend is a sociopath who solves crimes as an alternative to getting high. That's me by the way. Hello. Even the landlady used to run a drug cartel."
– Sherlock Holmes

Chapter Four:

Leona and Sherlock were sitting in the sitting room when John came back. Mrs. Hudson came by earlier and finished plaiting Leona's hair, so now it was filled with shoulder-length braids.

She sat quietly in the chair, staring at her feet. She didn't move, as if she were a statue. Sherlock was fiercely typing on his laptop, adding another addition to his blog, the Science of Deduction, but otherwise didn't say a word either. It had been fairly silent, which struck John as odd when he entered the room.

John stared at the two, Leona still had not moved an inch when he came in. She only glanced up at him, then looked back down. "What's going on...?" John asked, setting the bags in his hands down on the table in the kitchen, somehow finding space.

When neither of them answered, he sighed again, "Fine, don't talk to me, whatever," he grumbled, going to the kitchen to put away groceries, and the bag with his new phone near it. Once he finished, he plopped down in his chair, "Any new cases so far?"

"No," Sherlock replied, boredom lacing his tone.

"Okay... What about Leona's..." He sighed, he didn't want to talk about it, but after being out for a while, he deemed it rather important and wanted to discuss it, or at least the basics of it. "You know, the mind-moving, telepathic thing?"

Sherlock frowned a bit annoyed with John's choice of words, — but then again, when is he not. Telepathy was speaking into someone else's mind, telekinetic was moving things with your mind. "Telekinetic and nothing," his voice came out in a growling tone, making John quirk an eyebrow. "The papers don't say anything about it other than 'Subject may have odd abilities'."

Sherlock was very frustrated. In front of him sat a child, who had wings, could supposedly move things with her mind, and couldn't speak properly, and he wasn't able to... Examine her! Not in the sense of experimenting on her, but to understand how or why she was this way! He felt like someone was dangling a biscuit in his face and expect him not to take it!

John knew Sherlock and knew how anxious he was to examine the young girl, but he wouldn't allow it. Not after all the stuff that she's been through. "Hello Leona," John greeted.

"Jon," she replied softly, greeting him with a dull tone.

John frowned, this was much different than her usually cheeriness. "No, I didn't bombard her with questions, John," Sherlock rolled his eyes, sensing his question before he even said it.

John turned back to Leona, "Here, let me check you shoulder." He pulled down her sleeve, moving the dried-blood stained bandages. His eyes widened and he slowly blinked, "Whoa..."

"Whoa what?"

"It's gone," John whispered loud enough for his flat mate to hear. He set slight pressure on her leg. Nothing happened, not even the slight muscle movement. She just sat there, her face hard as steel. "It's healed up."

"That's not possible. The wound was too—"

"I know, Sherlock," John rolled his eyes. Sometimes, Sherlock forgot he was a doctor...

Leona looked down at the wound, or at least where the wound was, "Leona did you do something?" He asked the girl skeptically, but she shook her head.

"She can probably heal faster," Sherlock spoke up, "It said it in the papers."

"The wound was fresh, Sherlock," John frowned, "It couldn't have healed this quickly."

"It doesn't matter," Sherlock said, dismissing the rather interesting subject. "We have bigger worries to fret over."

"Like what?"

"Lestrade called," He began, "We have a murder."

"Where?"

"Eighth Street, a few block from here."

"Why didn't you go?" This was out of Sherlock's nature. Usually he was more than happy to go check out a murder and leave John a vague text with his whereabouts.

"Leona," he answered motioning to the younger girl.

"Oh," John looked at her. "What about Mrs. Hudson?"

"Not our babysitter," he reminded, "And she had to go out."

John ran a hand down his face, "What about her—"

"Wings? We can hide it behind one of my old coats."

"Those old things? They'll be far too big. If the wings don't stick out then the coat will!"

"Well, I don't see you coming up with any other plan."

"Shee?"

"Why don't we just leave her here?"

"Jon—?"

"By herself!?"

"Shee—?"

"It's better than putting a raggedy old coat on top of her!"

"Shee!" Leona shouted, making them both go silent and turn to her.

She pulled off her shirt revealing a bright pink tank top and her large wings. Then, she went to the kitchen, grabbing a knife, and cutting two large slits in the back. She picked up the ace bandage off the table, left over from the first aid kit, and wrapped her wings up, so that it stayed tied to her back.

The put back on the shirt and snatched up a worn jean jacket left by Mrs. Hudson, putting it on over top. Finally, she tucked her shirt into her pants and, with much effort, completely hiding her wings from sight.

John and Sherlock stared a her, she looked completely normal, like she never had wings in the first place, "Well then..." John said, with a small sigh.

"I guess that solves it..." Sherlock rubbed his hands together, picking up his coat. "Text Lestrade. Tell him we're on our way," Sherlock said, heading out the door, with John and Leona following him.

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To say Leona enjoyed the car ride to the crime scene would be an understatement.

At first she had been very reluctant to enter the car, seeing it's was small enclosed space. Sherlock was able to easily deduce that she was claustrophobic. After a bit of coaxing, she hesitantly entered the taxi, and they set off.

Leona was terrified at the beginning of the ride. She was used to having the wind go through her feathers when she was moving. Now, she was in a closed contraption where she could hear every moving parts and feel the vibrations and disruptions when the car moved. It was a new experience, and she quickly began to love it.

Leona looked out the clear windows, where she was able to see people walking up and down the street, and a smile grew on her face. The only people she had been able to see close up was the Whitecoats, John, Sherlock, and Mrs. Hudson.

Now, she was able to see all these different types of people. Some where tall, or short, or big or really small. Some were light skinned like Sherlock, or dark skinned like herself. Some had straight hair or curly hair or short hair or long hair.

Then there were the colours!

Everyone wore all different types of colours, some where light, others dark. Some of the colours, she has never seen before in her life, and it exhilarated her!

John and Sherlock didn't miss her obvious excitement of the outside world. In fact, John let her sit on the side, just so she could be closer to the window to see it. She kept looking back and forth, from them to the window, "Jon! Shee!" She said over and over again.

John laughed, "Look, there's people!"

"People!" She repeated, very energetic. She nearly bounced out of her seat.

"First time in London, eh?" The taxi driver said, his voice rough and heavy. Even he cracked a smile at her actions.

"For her, yes," John answered, watching as she began to ramble incoherent words along the lines of 'Shee', 'Lon-dome', 'Jon', and 'People'.

Eventually, they got to their destination, and Leona was a bit reluctant to leave the car and her adventure, but did so anyway.

The lot was taped off by yellow police tape and a big warehouse stood in the middle. "Freak's here," Sally Donovan announced, as the three cross the police tape. She looked down, her eyes narrowing, "Who's that?"

"John's niece," Sherlock lied smoothly, "Her mother is on holiday and asked him to watch her."

"So you brought her here?" Sally scoffed, rolling her eyes.

"Well, we didn't have time to call over a babysitter."

"What's her name?"

"Leona," John answered, looking down at the girl who's hand he held.

"Hello, Leona," Sally greeted, "I'm Sally Donovan." She held her hand out for the girl to shake, but she only moved behind John, shyly.

"She's... Shy," John answered awkwardly, trying to move the girl away, who was clinging to his coat.

Sherlock, deciding that he's wasted enough time, walked ahead to the crime scene, while John stayed for a second. "Come on, Leona, say hello," he urged, finally managing to move her away.

"... Hello," the girl answered, looking at the ground.

Sally seemed to buy this and laughed, "She's adorable," she complimented.

"Ah, thank you," he nodded, walking ahead with the girl in tow. Eventually, they made it to the large warehouse, where Sherlock stood, examining the body, Lestrade stood beside him, being completely useless, per usual.

He glanced over at John, catching a glimpse of the girl beside him, "Who's that? She can't be in here."

"John's niece," Sherlock replied, not looking away. "John, come here," he tossed his partner a pair of blue gloves and continued to prod at the body.

"What are we looking at?" He asked.

"Claw marks, like a wolf."

"Hello? What about her!?" Lestrade demanded, hating the thought of losing his job because he let a eight year old look at a dead body.

"She's fine, leave her be," Sherlock replied. Lestrade sighed, but said nothing else.

Leona sniffed, staying very still, she knew exactly what had happened here. She quickly went over to Sherlock, pulling him on his jacket. "Not now, Leona," he said, continuing his observations.

"Shee..."

"Leona, no."

"Shee!"

He sighed, turning around to her, an annoyed look on his face, "What could be so important that—"

She pointed to the body, "Erasers."

He stopped, his eyes widened a fraction. "What's wrong? What is it?" John asked, as a smirk grew on Sherlock's face.

Sherlock quickly turned back to the gruff man. His face ragged, with a reddish beard, but his hair was cut short, military style. His nails were much longer than an average man would grow them out to be. At first, he dismissed this as a quality that a homosexual would usually do, but other aspects of him didn't add up to that. With the new theory that he was a Eraser, it would make more sense.

He had longer nails, or claws, more likely as a werewolf would. He also saw how his feet was very calloused, which he deduced could be from working hard, probably had a more laboring job, but there was dirt in his toenails, he didn't wear shoes, just like Leona when they met her.

He chuckled, ruffling Leona's hair with his gloved hand, "Good job, Leona."

"What? What did she say?" John asked, confused himself.

"Eraser," John's eyes widened and he turned back to the corpse.

"Really?" Leona nodded, "Whoa... Wow, uhm. Okay. Lestrade, have you sent a blood sample to the lab?"

"Yes, what do you mean by 'Eraser'? Is that code for something?"

Sherlock nearly laughed, being able to have the chance to study a dead science experiment that happened to be some kind of werewolf too? It must be Christmas.

Alas, his glee soon ran out when the doors opened, revealing one of his least favorite people: Mycroft.

John was quick to react, pushing Leona behind him, away from sight, and announcing, "I need to go ask Sally about something." He proceeded to abruptly leave the room with Leona positioned in front of him, so Mycroft wouldn't see her.

Luckily, Mycroft was more concerned with his younger bother and paid no mind to John, giving him the chance to leave the room through the back doors. "Jon?" Leona frowned as he closed the warehouse door behind him with a hefty sigh.

He whipped out his new phone, texting his partner a quick message, 'Taking Leona home'.

Meanwhile, Sherlock and Mycroft were having a glaring competition. "I'm taking over this case," Mycroft announced and Sherlock narrowed his eyes slightly.

"I'm already working this case, there's no need," after finding out that the victim was a dead werewolf, giving up this case would be highly unlikely.

"You're already working a case: Mine."

"Ever heard of multitasking, brother? Working a case for a missing science experiment gets rather boring."

"I thought you'd like a case with a bit of science fiction."

"I've had enough cases like that for a while."

Mycroft rolled his eyes, "Nevertheless, I am taking over the case for offical government purposes, I'm sure you'd understand."

He turned to Lestrade, who simply shrugged, replying a short, "I don't see why not."

Sherlock had to contain his ever-growing anger, he had finally gotten the chance to study the corpse of a wolf-human, something that was particularly rare in his line of work. Now, thanks to his rather quite annoying older brother, it was slipping through his fingers like the sand on a beach! "Well, then, argument over," Mycroft clapped his hands together, "You can go, Sherlock."

If looks could kill a man, then Mycroft would be burning alive from the glower of pure annoyance and despise that Sherlock was shining at him as he turned to leave from the crime scene. "Oh, and I expect an update on that job soon!" Mycroft called behind him, causing Sherlock to whip around, glaring at him.

"I'm not doing that job," he seethed in a hauntingly cool tone. "It doesn't quite catch my interests," then, he turned on his heel, and left the building, leaving his annoying elder brother behind.

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As soon as Sherlock walked through the door, a small figure pounced on him bringing them both to the ground, "Shee!" She cried tearfully, sitting on top of his chest. "Shee! Shee! Shee!!"

"Leona!" Sherlock gasped, pushing the girl roughly off his chest, and moving to stand up. She helplessly clung to his leg, like a child missing their mother. Sherlock glared at John, silently demanding an explanation.

"Ah, she was crying the whole way back to the flat, and kept saying 'Erasers' over and over again," he said, rubbing his head. "She probably missed you, or something..."

Sherlock looked over to the girl, who had small tears growing in her eyes, "Shee... 'Kay?" She asked.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "Of course I'm okay, it was only my brother."

She sighed, leaning back, "Shee... Scare... Leona," she pouted. "Leona... Scare... Shee... Hurt."

Sherlock turned to John, "When did she start to learn to speak in sentences?"

"Yesterday, after... That," John frowned, not wanting to mention it, and dully hoped that he would catch on.

Luckily, he did. He nodded, getting off the floor, picking up his bag. He looked at his watch, two o' clock now, and he had nothing to do. He scowled, plopping down on his arm chair, and pulled out his sleek laptop, checking through his notifications on there. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. It was like, nobody had any problems that he could fix.

No, that wasn't true. Everyone on the earth has some kind of problem, but there was no one asking him directly to fix there's. Then again, there is—

"Sherlock," John called, pulling him away from his thoughts, "What about Leona?" And then his thoughts went flying again as he looked at Leona. She was still sitting on the ground, but apparently interested in an ant that she found. Fascination covered her face as she let it crawl up and down her hand. She giggled as the bug tickled her skin.

At the sound of her name being called, she turned looking up, "Shee?"

"Sherlock, what are we going to do about her?" John continued, "It's only a matter of time before Mycroft comes back and finds her. He has control of all CCTV cameras in the city, he will find her eventually."

"I know, John," Sherlock grumbled, he needed to think, and John's useless complaining was definitely not helping. He was still extremely curious about her ability and would very much like to test it and see what really makes her tick, but of course, he couldn't.

He huffed, but said no more on the topic, filling the room with an undisturbed silence.

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Edited 1/4/17