Smack! Her teacher smacked a ruler against her desk.
"Pay attention Miss Raggard!" the teacher screeched.
Amanda Grace Raggard (Adeline. Thats another story) perked up. She was thinking about her father: the biggest arsehole she knows. Under her shirt, she had five cigarette burns from her father. The eleven year old girl fantasizes about her husband and how he would never be like her father.
A few nights ago, Amanda almost lost her life. She was grateful to be alive. He slugged her and slashed her repeatedly. There was a cut across her face and not one soul came up and asked her what happened.
No matter how much pain was inflicted on her, no one seemed to notice the scars and bruises. Or rather, they never noticed her at all. She had no friends or family. The only person she had was also her worst nightmare.
Right now you are probably wondering where her mother is? Monica Raggard committed suicide three years ago. Since she's been gone, Amanda has had no one.
At 3:00 p.m., when school was over, Amanda darted out of the school. The quicker she arrived home, the less beating she receive. She did not make her bed that morning and she paid for it.
Once the beating was over, Amanda ran outside. Her father snatched whiskey out of the cabinet. Glugging it down, he passed out.
Little Amanda could not take it anymore. She ran. She raced. She zoomed. There was no where to go except straight head. No turning back. It was time to get back the life she never had.
Even though she left, Amanda still lived in fear. Her whole life, she had something to fear. Now she fears for her marriage.
Shanking, Mary's hands were clammy and sweaty. Forcing her eyes to make weird positions, she was doing everything in her power not to soak the papers in tears. The pen in her hand wobbled back and forth. Her name was right below John's. Slowly, she turned her head to see John's emotions. With a straight face, John was unable to read until he looked in her eyes. His hands were neatly folded in front of him. Behind his closed jaw was his grinding teeth. His forehead flashed 'I'm angry'. Hopingly, Mary just bite her lip and wished she was not showing her heart ache.
"I really messed up this time," Mary sighed in her thoughts.
"Why did I marry that bitch," John pondered to himself.
Kicking at her stomach, Baby Watson hurt Mary. She felt it was John's anger shoving through his daughter. The judge straightened the papers and neatly placed them on his desk.
"Well that's that. The divorce is final," the judge took a sigh of relief.
Mary remember that day in grade school glancing toward the clock then at her paper. She was supposed to be taking notes but instead made a list about how wonderful her husband would be. How amazing of a father he would be. All those plans and dreams crumbled when she signed that paper.
Gently, she wiped her left eye. She sniffed a few times and turned away from the courtroom. Miss Morstan pushed the 'down' button at the elevator.
"Of course I'm going down," Mary slightly giggled.
As Mary rode down, she hummed to herself, "Going down hill. I peddle so hard to make it up the hill and of course I go so fast down the hill, that I fall off the bike."
Flopping out of the elevator, Mary trudged to her car. Dreadful thoughts of the custody battle floated through her mind. Truly, she wanted John to have visitation rights for two reasons. One being her daughter would be able to know the wonderful man. The other one is because Mary will still be able to see the man of her dreams.
Turning the key, Mary zoomed off down Victoria Street. An odd odor fumed the car. Cheaply made, Mary figured it was because her car was made from crap. That was not the case this time. Chloroform eased from the vents. Slowly, she fell asleep.
Smash! The car behind her slammed into Mary. The man leaped from the car, picked her up, and threw her in the trunk. Why? Maybe, just maybe, the man behind her planted the chloroform in her car. He was hired.
While knocked out cold, Mary dreamed about her mother's death: starting with the beginning of the day.
Combing her brown hair, Amanda Grace starred in the mirror pondering how she would look as a blonde. She pulled her hair into a tight ponytail. Her long hair reached to her mid back. You know the 70's style. A huge scar crossed her shoulder from a kief. She always wore something to cover it up.
Faintly, she smiled at herself ready to take on the day of school and 'after school activities' so to speak. Her mother gave her a larger hug than usual. Without a care, Mary galloped to the school bus.
For seven hours, Amanda Grace stared at the clock. Finally the bell had rung. School was out. Rushing, she stepped on the bus. Harriet Watson, a girl a grade older than her snickered at her. John Watson, Harriet's little brother (who was a grade under Amanda Grace) slipped Amanda a short smile.
For the rest of her life, Amanda Grace would remember that smile. Neither one knew each other's names. In the long run, that would actually be a good thing. Peering into the distance, Amanda Grace was searching for an inspiration.
As child, Amanda liked to draw pictures. It was her hobby. Since her dad had been gone for two days, she figured he could not tear up: as he has done before.
The wheels came to a stop and she jumped out of the vehicle. Busting through the door, she saw her father was home. Her crappy house looked more dilapidated than usual. A blood stain spotted the carpet.
"Daddy… wha-what happened?"
"That is none of your buisness, Amanda!" her father yelled.
He crashed an empty beer bottle against the wall. Fearing for her life, Amanda ran into her room. She took her sketch pad out from underneath her bed. For a few hours, she drew a picture of a broken whiskey bottle.
All of a sudden, she heard yells. Pressing her ear against the door, Amanda listened the best she could. Her father was screaming at her mother for 'cheating' with the mailman. Apparently, he thinks asking the mailman to take the bills is considered 'cheating'.
Amanda heard screeches from her mother. Backing up, Amanda cried on her bed. Soon she heard creaking bed noises. That's when she knew her mother was being raped. Nestling her head, Amanda whimpered in her pillow. Less than and hour later, she did not hear any noises. Tiptoeing out of the room, and searched the kitchen/ living room for her parents. Twisting the door knob, Amanda Grace opened her parents room door. Her father was no where to be found. Amanda's mother on the other hand was sitting on her bed facing the window.
"Mummy? Are you okay?"
No answer.
"Mum… where is dad?"
"He's gone to the pub."
Turning around, Monica Raggard, her mother looked into Amanda's eyes. Knotted and messy Monica's chocolate brown hair, need to be brushed. Her blue eyes shined on Amanda: as always. Her sweet smile was contagious and Amanda Grace began to smile.
"Amanda, I don't know how much longer I can put up with this," Monica started.
"Are we gonna leave, mum?" Amanda asked eagerly.
"With what money?" Monica mumbled.
"I have£2, mummy," Amanda Grace wailed.
"Listen. You have to stay here, but I'm going to leave. Okay?"
"Why can't I come too?"
"Because! You can't! Now leave the room, Amanda."
Mopping out of the room, Amanda closed the door. She sat on her bed and tried to imagine what her life would be like without her mother. It was not a pretty picture.
Bang! Amanda soared of her bed and landed in her mother's room to find Monica drowning in a pool of blood.
The next morning when her father discovered the body, he was furious and blamed it all on Amanda. He smashed his cigar on her leg. On her knee, the burns from his cigarette remain there.
Gently, Mary opened her eyes. She scanned the room. Metal walls surrounded her. One of those windows police use when they question people sat in the wall. Of course the people on the opposite side of Mary could see her.
Her cheek felt sore. She reached to touch the tender skin and felt a scratch. There was a jug of water in the left corner and a bucket in the right. She dreaded to know if the bucket was for her 'business'.
A voice boomed from above her. Startled, she immediately looked up and strained her neck.
"Ouch!" she yelped.
"Mary? " the voice called.
"Yeah, duh."
"Hello. We will be watching you at all times. There is a bathroom through a door behind you. A jug of water is in that corner over there. We will bring you food every so often."
"Okay. Why am I here?" she asked rudely.
"That will be stated when 'he' comes."
"Who is 'he'? Is that Charles Magnussen? If so why wouldn't he just kill me right away?"
"I cannot answer that."
"Fine. How long do I have to be here?" Mary whined.
"Until he comes, alright?"
The voice left her alone. Hopping off the stool, she took a sip of water. Hurdling in the corner with the water, Mary curled up into a ball. You might think she was upset about being captured, but this has happened before.
John was gone. She need time to explode her emotions and what a better time than now. Sobbing, Mary's thought landed back into her childhood.
Out of breath, Amanda stopped. She ran two and half miles. Her bruised body ached. A forty year old lady waltzed by.
"Ello' there. Are you okay?" the woman asked.
"I'm fine, just out of breath."
"You have a bruise on your face. There is also a slash on you shin. Are you sure you're okay?" the lady asked again.
Amanda Grace didn't say anything for a moment.
"Can I have £20, please!"
"Why?"
"I'm running. Running away from my daddy. Please help me!"
"Did your father do this?" the woman politely asked pointing to the wound?"
"Yes."
"Here is £35. Good luck running away. I hope he doesn't find you," Martha Hudson stressed as Amanda darted away.
Quickly she hopped on a bus toward London. She drew the whole way there. She drew a young woman with blonde hair kissing her husband. She was as sweet as Mrs. Hudson and Molly Hooper if they had a child. The woman had a slight glimpse of fear in her eyes. The man had blue eyes and dishwater blonde hair.
From her youth, she knew this was her future.
Now Mary cried over her future. Presently, it does not seem so bright.
A little seven year old brunette plopped herself next to Amanda on the bus. Her mother and father sat in the row behind her.
"Hi! I'm Molly and I'm seven and a half," bursted Molly.
"Hello," Amanda stated in an annoyed tone.
"I'm moving to London today. We get to move because daddy bought a bigger house. He changed jobs," Molly blabbed.
"Lovely."
"What are you drawing?" Molly inquired.
"A young couple in love. They are going to be together forever," Amanda Grace smiled.
"Who are they? Are they your mum and dad?"
"Hell, no! They are not. My mum is dead and my dad is mean. This couple will be me and my husband," Amanda explained.
"But the pretty lady in the picture has blonde hair. You have gorgeous brown hair like me. You don't have blonde hair," Molly was confused.
"I will have blonde hair: then."
"Your hair can't change colour like that. It's impossible. At least that's what my book about the body says."
"Well, I'll dye my hair."
For Mary's whole life, she dreamed of a kindhearted soldier with a fiery side and a bit of a thrill seeker for a husband. Mary realized the scene in the picture had already happened. She already met him, dated him, loved him, married him, and soon will give birth to his child.
That is when Mary remembered something about the picture.
"What's that pink object in the background?" Molly asked.
"That is the baby's crib. Our daughter is in the background. She's sleeping."
Of course! She had already given birth to in the picture. Mary hoped that she would still have that life. Maybe it was too much to wish for, but Mary had always believed in that picture.
A voice started to speak above her again.
"Hello, Mary or rather Amanda Grace Raggard Adeline. I have brought you a friend. Someone you knew a long time ago," Charles Augustus Magnussen boomed.
Tightly holding her breath, Mary looked up at the speaker and shut her eyes.
Meanwhile, at 221B Baker Street, Mrs. Hudson took a scrumptious pie out of the oven. It was cherry, John's favourite. She cooked a pie to try and cheer up John. He hadn't come out of his room all day.
It was late at night, and Sherlock was trying to figure out what Charles had on Mary. Scouring the internet, the only 'Mary E. Watson' in the records died in the early '70's. That was when he knew she was hiding something.
Sniffing, John grabbed a kleenex. Even though John is A tough man, nothing was ever more heart wrenching than loosing Mary. He really loved her. Like really, really loved her.
Bing! John glanced at his phone to notice a text from 'CAM'. He opened up the chat and it said, 'Mary is blessed and needs prayers. Please help support our company. From The dear St. John. Please do donate today.'
The last time Mary got a Bible spam, it was a skip code. Remembering his fear and anxiety of almost being burned alive, he darted down to Sherlock to see if he could read the skip code: if it was one.
"Sherlock? Is this a skip code?" John moaned.
"Is what a 'skip code'?"
"This!"
"Yes. It is. Every third word. It reads 'Mary needs support from John today'."
"Well how do we figure out where she is?"
"I don't know. It's signed CAM."
"He sent us a telegram at our wedding, right?"
"I know what that means John, he's not a relative. It's Charles Augustus Magnussen. C.A.M."
Rushing out of the house, they traveled to Mycroft. The only time they would ever consult Mycroft is if Sherlock was really desperate and he was.
"Mycroft, do you have anyway of calculating where in the bloody hell Magnussen is right now?" John yelled out of breath.
"He is in Appledore, presently," Mycroft whispered.
"We need to head there right now!"
Calling for a helicopter, they soared to save Mary.
Terrified of who Magnussen holler to come, Mary waited in fear on the stool. The clicking of the door unlocking, made Mary's stomach jump to her throat.
Shocked, an unpleasantly old man clumped through the door. His name was Alex Raggard: her father.
"Amanda Grace Raggard. Look at you. Pathetic as ever. Apparently, after driving your mother to committ suicide, you ran off and become an assassin!" her father started.
Mary stopped paying attention and her mind threw herself back to the day she became an assassin.
Amanda was fifteen living on the streets of London. A man passing by noticed her. His name was Roger Adeline and he was twenty years old. Approaching her, Roger asked her if she wanted a job. Interested, she followed him to the assassin's hideout. From then until she was thirty-six, she would be killing around three people a month.
Eventually she even married that bastard, Roger. Money made her join. In her young mind, she figured being an assassin was helping other people get revenge on those whom they hated. She would have much liked to feel that revenge and murder her father. She never did, though.
"Oh and look your pregnant too. I should have known you'd get knocked up. I don't see a ring on ya, you slut!"
"I was married, dad. To a wonderful man," Mary sobbed.
"But you screwed things up and he divorced you am I right? I knew nothing would ever come of you. I mean look at you. You ruined your entire life. You're a knocked up single mother who murdered hundreds of people and ya can't keep a damn man! Amanda, you little bitch. You'll never be anything but a dumb child."
Soaking in the harsh word her father yelled, Mary realized he was right. She knew that her life was shit and there was nothing she could do about it.
To beat the pain she parted with some water in her body and cried while he dad stared at her 'stupidity'. Then, a reassuring voice echo over the two of them.
"Mary? Mary Elizabeth Morstan Watson? Can you hear me?"
Wiping her tears with joy, she replied with an ecstatic 'yes!'.
"Who is that?"
"The love of my life," Mary said hopefully.
"Mary, I am coming to get you. Sherlock just shot Magnussen. I'm coming, love," John exclaimed.
Without noticing, Mary was smiling her little heart out. John pounded on the door and unlatched it. Swooshing over to him, Mary tenderly squeezed him. Her tears were just falling from her face like Niagara Falls. John French kissed her until her lips fell off.
Off to the side awkwardly watching, her father cried. His eyes watered a little.
"Mary, on the plane ride here, I was thinking that what happened in the past is forgotten. The problems of your past are your business. The problems of your future are my privilege. That's all I have to say that's all I need to know. Except who the guy who was cursing you before behind you," John apologized.
"He is my dad. He abused me and my mum when I was little. But thats not important. Can we renew our vows now?"
"Abused you? That explains why you were so nervous about becoming a mother and why you became an assassin too, actually," John realized, "I have to do something before we get married though."
John walked over the the sobbing father and punched him in the eye.
"There ya go sir. That about covers it."
Sauntering out with Mary on his arm, John left. Sherlock, John, and Mary hailed a cab to the courthouse to get remarried. The whole ride there, Mary explained her childhood and discussed the picture she drew.
Once they were married again, Mary, Sherlock, and John traveled to the Watson flat where she showed them the picture she drew that day on the bus.
"So you really were an orphan then?"
"Yeah. I honestly don't have family. My mum is an angel and my dad is a bloody dick head and my aunts and uncles… well I don't know them. My parents kind of rebelled, you know drinking, drugs, and so on. So I really don't have family."
"I'm sorry, Mary."
Mycroft buzzed Sherlock's phone and was asking about Mary and who killed Charles. As the conversation continued, Mycroft mentioned Redbeard.
Finally it clicked in Mary's head. She had heard that name before wandering London streets as a tween.
"Ahhh!" Amanda screeched being attacked by a large bloodhound.
"Sorry, miss," a little boy with red curls apologized.
"It's fine. He did not hurt me," Amanda Grace smiled.
"Oh little brother, quit talking to goldfish. You are such a stupid little boy, Sherlock," the boy's older brother moaned.
Her ex, Roger Adeline was picked up once by Lestrade and young-in-training, Sally Donovan.
It was true. Mary met everyone. Soon, the picture Amanda drew became a photograph.
As a child Amanda had imagined a life almost as another person, per say. She spent her entire life becoming Mary Elizabeth Watson. Now she is Mary Elizabeth Watson living the life she always wanted to.
THE END.