"Oh, I may be on the side of the angels, but don't think for one second that I am one of them."
— Sherlock Holmes

Chapter Three:

Mycroft soon left after that, leaving the briefcase filled with what Sherlock assumed was papers for the case he was definitely not going to work.

He stared out the window, silence deafening the atmosphere. John sat across from him in equal silence, thinking over Mycroft's words.

Several minutes of tense silence passed before John spoke up, "Are you going to—?"

"No," he replied curtly. "I'm going to tell my brother we're not going to take the case."

"What if someone finds her?"

"They won't."

John scoffed, "Why would Mycroft have us kill a child?"

"He doesn't think of her as a child. He thinks she's a rabid animal that needs to be put down if she gets too dangerous," his words were sharp and cut like a blade, but they both knew it was true.

"What could be so dangerous about her?" John asked, taking the briefcase, and clicking it open. Sherlock peered over, looking at the contents inside.

Sherlock's assumptions were correct, per usual, there was a small stack of papers in the briefcase. But, what he didn't expect was the silvery handgun that rested on top and pack of bullets beside it. Beside the bullets, were a few darts filled with what looked like a tranquilizing chemicals.

Sherlock scoffed, looking away as John sifted through the papers. "It's just papers on a 'excessively large' Black Eagle," John said, skimming through the rest.

A soft cry resonated through the room, making the two men turn to each other. "Leona," John said, remembering that he left her in his room.

Sherlock got up, striding over to his flat mate's door, which was closed, and opened it. The heavy curtains were drawn and the lights were off, causing the room to be pretty dark.

Leona sat on the bed, her knees drawn to her chest, and her head was placed securely in them. Her large wings wrapped around her body tightly, but he could see how the feathers on her wings shaking in fear, along with the rest of her trembling body. "Leona?" He said, carefully approached the girl.

She looked up, tears staining her cheeks, "... Shee...?" She whispered, but her voice cracked. She was terrified.

John quickly came in behind Sherlock, a worried expression on his face. She glanced over to him, "What's wrong with her? Why is it so dark in here?" He asked, flipping the light switch, allowing the room to brighten significantly.

A sigh of relief escaped the girl's mouth, "Dark," she muttered, taking a shuddering breath.

"Dark?" John frowned, but then realization dawned on him, "She's scared of the dark."

"Why would she be scared of the dark?" Sherlock frowned, looking back at the girl. "That's silly."

John sighed at the unmistaken apathy in his friend's voice. "Sometimes, it's the things that people's experienced in the dark that scares them, Sherlock." John helped the girl off the bed, grabbing the tissue box aiding her with cleaning herself up.

The three of them walked back in the sitting room, much to their surprise, finding Mrs. Hudson. "Sherlock, do you still have the first—" she stopped, noticing the small girl with wings beside John. "... Oh, my—"

"It's not what it looks like!" John exclaimed while Sherlock simply shrugged saying, "When we found her, she had wings."

Mrs. Hudson gaped, staring at the girl, who was hiding shyly behind John, although part of her wings did poke out. "Leona, meet Mrs. Hudson," Sherlock said, gesturing to the older woman.

"I thought we were going to keep her secret!" John hissed at Sherlock, who rolled his eyes.

"It was only a matter of time before she found out," he shrugged. "Better sooner than later," he turned back to the girl. "C'mon now, don't be rude."

Leona frowned, but moved anyway. Her wings were pressed against her back, in an attempt to hide them, "H... Hutson," she repeated carefully, and gave the woman a sheepish smile.

"Where did she come from?" She asked.

"We're still working that out," Sherlock answered.

Mrs. Hudson looked her over, "Has she eaten yet?" The two men exchanged glances, answering her question. "Really? You forgot to feed her? And what are those rags she's wearing? Did you give her that, John!? You should know better!"

John gaped, unable to answer her flurry of comments, as she continued, "She needs some real clothes and food. Come on, sweetheart, I'm sure I can find some clothes for you to wear." Mrs. Hudson proceeded in taking her by the hand and dragging her away from the two older men. A yelp of surprise escaped her mouth before she disappeared out of the room.

|£|£|£|£|

An hour later, Mrs. Hudson came back with Leona in tow. Now, she was out of the dirty, raggedy clothes she once wore, and had on a larger tee-shirt with a faded animated drawing and jeans that looked worn one-too-many times.

Her wings were being covered by her shirt, and it didn't take a genius to tell that she didn't like it because she kept clawing and scratching at the shirt with a ever-growing frown on her face.

Sherlock knew she had been fed because there were excess bread crumbs still on her lips. "There!" Mrs. Hudson exclaimed proudly.

When Leona caught sight unto Sherlock, her eyes lit up, once again, "Shee!" She screamed, running over and jumping on top of him, for the second time that day. His fortune must have succeeded because he did not have his laptop on his lap again and he just finished his tea, keeping him from spilling it all over himself.

Leona snuggled into his chest as he forcibly tried to pry her off him, again. Her wings moved and struggled through the shirt in order to aid her with her hug, but with the shirt on it was no use.

"Leona!" He shouted, pulling her off him so she could stand in front of him, "You cannot keep doing that."

She smiled, ignoring his words, "Shee!"

"Sherlock," he corrected sourly.

"Shee," she protested stubbornly.

"Sherlock."

"Shee."

"Sherlock."

"Shee!" He sighed, this was going absolutely nowhere.

Meanwhile, John and Mrs. Hudson were talking amongst themselves, "Where'd you get the clothes, Mrs. Hudson, if you don't mind me asking?" John asked.

"Oh, not at all! I got them from a friend, Rebecca Harrison, I believe I've told you about her. Has two older daughters and she was gonna throw them out, but I called her up and told her I had a niece I could give them too," Mrs. Hudson winked, making John laugh, taking another sip of his tea.

"Speaking of," the woman continued, pulling the girl over to her, and sitting her down in front of her. She began to finger comb through the Leona's messy hair, scolding her lightly when she made a feeble attempt to wiggle away. "Is she your niece, John?"

"Ah, no," he denied with slight frown, "We found her yesterday sleeping on my bed."

"What of her parents?"

"No clue," Sherlock replied.

"Why don't you just search her?" Mrs. Hudson frowned, getting to a large knot. "John, could you fetch a comb for me?" John nodded, getting up and heading over to the bathroom.

Sherlock nodded, "I'll need to take a photo of her face," he muttered, going over to Leona with his camera phone, snapping a photo of her face. Leona squinted at the flash, but otherwise said nothing, just as John returned with a wide toothed comb.

Mrs. Hudson shot him a grateful look and began to comb through her hair, more tenderly now, until she got to the knots that is. Sherlock uploaded her photo on the laptop, and pulled up a face recognition program.

John looked over his shoulder, "What are you up to?" He asked, peering at the computer.

"Facial recognition. Looking all over the internet for her face, or at least someone that looked remotely like her," he answered, just as the computer buzzed.

John took his phone, swiping and typing on it, "What are you doing?"

"Sending the picture to my phone," he replied just as his phone rang, with a text message from Sherlock with the picture as a attachment.

"What for?"

"Wanted to show Leona," he shrugged, bringing his phone over, handing it to the girl. "Look! It's you!" He smiled but the girl froze on the spot, pupils dilating.

She screamed, her eyes seemed to glow a bright brown. The phone flew out of John's hand and against the wall, shattering to wall, each piece of the phone shattering into smaller pieces. As if that wasn't enough, it began to smoke and catch to a small fire.

Mrs. Hudson was the first to react, jumping up to get towel and fan out the fire, "Good heavens!" She exclaimed.

John and Sherlock stared at the girl, who's eyes were still a bright hazel color. "What the hell...?" John gasped, staring at the girl. She still glared at the broken pieces of the phone that Mrs. Hudson cleaned up. "No, really, what—"

"I don't know," Sherlock grumbled, "Leona." But she didn't turn to him, she heaved her chest, her gaze not leaving. "Leona!"

She still didn't react. John got up, pulling gently on her arm, "Leona," he said and finally she broke her gaze.

"Jon?" She replied, her eyes darting from him to the broken phone Mrs. Hudson tossed out. Once every broken piece was disposed of, she sighed, relaxing her shoulders.

"I need to get the broom, I'll be back in a jiffy," Mrs. Hudson announced, leaving the room.

"Are you okay?" John asked seriously.

A small nod was her answer, but Sherlock — being Sherlock — was curious. Too curious.

He pulled up the picture on his laptop and show it to the girl. Like a switch being flipped, her pupils dilated and glowed again, and she jumped at the laptop. Sherlock pushed the top down, hiding it away from her, and taking her face in his hand.

"Glowing, definitely glowing. But why? How?" He thought aloud, examining her over. "A photograph of yourself made you go berserk, but you've seen your reflection before, of course. There's a mirror in the bathroom and in the hall and you didn't try to break them then. And then there's the fact that you somehow pulled the phone out of John's hand without making contact with it. If I didn't know any better, I'd say you're telekinetic, but that's—" he didn't get finish because she waved her hand, causing his chair to go back, hitting the wall, making scratch lines scrap the wooden floor.

Sherlock stared dumbfounded at the girl, who was currently trembling. Her eyes wide with fear, which was directed at him, and her breath came out in short, uneven, pants. Her pose was defensive, as if she was trying to protect herself from him. "Le—"

"Whitecoat," was all she said before rushing out the room, in the direction of what looked like John's room. She slammed the door behind her, making the noise rumble through the apartment.

After a few seconds, John processed what had happened, "Sherlock!"

"What?" He frowned, bringing back out his laptop, and continued to work.

"You're not even going to check if she's okay!?" John said, in more of a shocking hiss.

"She'll be fine, I didn't even do anything to her," Sherlock stated bluntly, not looking up from his laptop.

"You scared her!"

"I was simply trying to find out what she did to your phone and if she was able to do it again."

"She called you a 'Whitecoat' what the bloody hell does—" he paused, realization dawning him. He remembered when she got scared when he said he was a doctor, and was able to piece it together easily. "A scientist. She thought you were a scientist."

"Yes. You're now getting that? I thought it was quite clear."

John scowled at the man, "If you're just going to sit there, I'm gonna go check on her." He marched out of the room, and down the hall where she retreated to.

Mrs. Hudson opened the door, with a broom in hand, "Where'd John pop off to?"

|£|£|£|£|

John knocked softly on the door, "Leona?" He called through the wooden door, "Leona, can I—" he paused, noticing that the door slowly moved forward. It wasn't locked.

He opened the door to find the lights on and Leona sitting in the corner. He could see her wings in her shirt flinching and moving, eager to be released from its fabric prison. "Leona?"

"... Scare..." She muttered, staring at her feet. "Shee... Scare..."

John frowned, piecing her dysfunctional words together. Sherlock scared her. "Shee... Whitecoat. Wh–Whitecoat... Scare... Leona..."

"Leona, Sherlock isn't going to hurt you, I promise."

"Shee... Whitecoat... S–Shee hurt... Leona..." She stuttered, staring at her legs, not moving at all. "Shee—Whitecoat... Sh–Sh–Shee hurt—"

"Leona calm down," John said, kneeling down in front of her. After spending a few years in war, he was able to see the early signs of an anxiety attack easily. "Just breath, Leona."

"Shee—"

"Don't worry about Sherlock," he said, forcing his tone to be calming. "Sherlock doesn't matter." He forced her eyes on him, "Look at me. Look at me. Everything's going to be fine. Just breathe. Breathe."

At this point, the girl was shaking, but her eyes still set on one point, staring into space. Her breath came out in ragged pants, but she managed to finally say, "Shee..."

John sat beside her, at first she looked uncomfortable at such closeness, but she relaxed, not seeing John as a threat. "Sherlock didn't mean to frighten you," John said, "He was just...  Curious, and sometimes he gets too curious. Might even forget that you're still a person too." He sighed, "Sherlock — Shee — won't hurt you, I swear. And if he tried to lay a bloody finger on you, he'll have to get through me first." He puffed out his chest and gave the girl a warm smile.

Leona tilted her head, "Jon... No hurt... Leona...?" For trying to piece words together for the first time, she quickly getting much better at it.

He smiled, ruffling her half-plaited hair. "John no-hurt Leona," he assured using the same dialect as her, quickly adding, "John never hurt Leona."

She smiled, pressing herself into his hand, a soft purr of pleasure rumbling from her throat, and she closed her eyes. After a few minutes of rubbing her head, his hand trailed to her wing, rubbing circles in it with his thumb. He sat there for several minutes, until he realized that she had dozed off.

He easily plucked the girl off the floor, bringing her to the bed, and resting her sleeping body in it. He exited the room, leaving the door fully open.

John found Sherlock staring at his wall, getting his hand gun ready to shoot it, again. Luckily, John was able to stop him before he caused unnecessary trouble.

"No, no! No!" He shouted, pulling the gun away, "I just got Leona to lie down."

"Leona is sleeping again? She just got up," Sherlock frowned.

"Yeah, after you gave her a bleedin' anxiety attack!" Sherlock rolled his eyes, like it was nothing, infuriating John even more. "You don't understand, do you? She's a child, Sherlock. She's scared. You said it yourself, she was 'experimented' on! You can't act like she's your lab rat!"

"I never did. I was just curious on how she was moving things without touching them," He replied coolly, reluctantly setting his handgun down on the table.

John glowered at him, snatching his coat off his chair and loosely putting it on. "Where are you going?" Sherlock asked, although he didn't sound like he cared very much.

"Out," he slammed the door behind him.

|£|£|£|£|£|£|£|£|£|£|£|£|£|£|£|£|£|

Edited 1/4/17