I do not own Sherlock. I only own my additional plot line in my original characters

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•\•/•Chapter 1•\•/•

Blackness.

That's all I felt anymore. Just a lone emotionless feeling that resided in the grey area of the chart of my psyche. I don't know exactly what it means to feel blackness, though. Maybe I'm crazy. Maybe I lost all of my humanity, or maybe I was just nothing anymore. A lobotomised human shell. A thing to manipulate and do a villain's bidding. Though, I was pretty easy to manipulate in the first place, to be honest.

My dad was a manipulator. 'The World's Best Salesman' is what my dad and I would joke about behind close doors. He could sell a drowning man water and talk his way out of speeding tickets. He would con people. He would say that he didn't con per say, but he would 'play the innocent man.' He 'played' his way through university; he got away with cheating and bribing the teachers. He worked at a law firm. He could see a lie from the smallest of details. It was brilliant actually, quite brilliant.

But not brilliant enough to see that his own wife was slowly leaving him. Mom was afraid that he was a psychopath or something worse, though he was never violent. She said it was the little things that scared her at first. She never told me what they were but she said that if I looked closely, I would see it myself. I didn't like that answer but I guess I was biased. I mean, I had lived with him all my life so I would have probably overlooked his 'behaviour'. It wasn't until Mom tried to leave with me, that I finally saw the scary part of him. At first, he was just trying to convince her to stay, but then things changed.

"What are you doing? Is it something I did?" He pleaded holding on to her shoulders. To anyone else, it would have looked a little pathetic, but I saw something different. There was a look in his eyes that chilled my bones. I didn't know what that look was, but I noticed it so it must have been important. He continued pleading when my mom just gently pulled his hands off of herself, "You can't take her away! Hannah! She is my daughter! You are my wife! You said that we would stay together, as a family!"

We were all that he had and she knew that. He knew that she knew. Hell, even I knew that. My grandparents abandoned dad when he was thirteen years old and he was stuck in foster care for the rest of his childhood. But she still resisted him. That's when I saw the face that he had always warned me about. The face with the angled eyebrows and the deep frown, followed my the jaw tensing for a moment. That face shows pure anger and rage, something he had always told me to run away from. In a split second, he became violent and start hitting her, bashing her face in with the heel of his hand. She grunted and screeched, but not loud enough to attract attention. No, he didn't give her time to take in a deep enough breath. Her blood ran from her nose, her mouth, her eyes, her everything. Mixing with her tears, the blood splattered onto my face, where it slowly slid down my cheek, and as it streamed down, time seemed to slow. It wasn't quite like it is in the movies, but it reminded me a bit of it.

I think that is when I lost myself. All my empathy vanished before my eyes. All I felt was a surge of self-preservation. Instead of pulling my dad off of her, I ran away, like a coward. I didn't care for my mom's safety. I couldn't. I wanted to, I really did but for some reason I couldn't. I just grabbed my stuff and ran to my mom's car. She had set our plane tickets in the glove box with our new citizenship information. Mom was a paranoid person, always thinking that Dad would find out. I used to think that she was insane, but now I am grateful for her paranoia. As I started the car I saw the couple from across the street step out of their stupid yellow car. One of them, Harold, waved to me. Usually I would have waved back, they were nice people but I just peeled out of the driveway.

I drove myself to the airport then sat in the car for a bit, knowing that I had time to spare and Dad had no idea where we were going. Well, where I was going. I wiped at my eye and looked at my hand when I felt a liquid.

There was blood. My mother's blood.

I rapidly started to wipe it off. I couldn't handle having her blood on me. The guilt of leaving my mother with him hadn't breached my shock quite yet, but if I didn't want to attract attention, I couldn't have her blood on me. I tried to remember what the plan was. Until now, I was acting on auto pilot, without reason or caution.

She had told me the plan weeks ago, almost every single day since then when she picked me up from work.

"Remember this, love. We are going to get on this plane and then we are going to stay with my old friend from Uni."

"But, what if he stops us?"

"Then I will buy you some time and you get on that plane. I'll meet you there, okay love?"

"Yeah, okay."

I had no idea what she was so scared of at the time, but I trusted her so I did what she told me to. I grabbed my bags and made my way to check in.

I boarded my plane without incident. I was a little surprised to find that they had no problems with sending a teenage girl on a plane by herself. Maybe they didn't care, or maybe they didn't notice how old I was. I mean, I was fourteen. Either way, I had made my way to my mom's home-city, London, and there I would wait for her.

If she ever came.

•\•/•_•\•/•

The plane ride was very boring. The man next to me was spilling out of his chair, not because of him being fat, he was actually really skinny. He just didn't feel so good, a green tent to his skin caused by nausea. I had offered him a Dramamine tablet and he took it gratefully. I think he said his name was Rufus, or something like that. I really didn't pay attention. He was boring and he lied a lot.

He kept trying to convince me things that weren't even remotely near the truth. It was amusing to hear about his insane conspiracies for about five minutes, but when he was starting to talk about political conspiracies, like the JFK assassination or that Bush did 9/11, it soon became boring. I tried to be civil but the shock of seeing my mother beaten by my father was probably wearing off as well as my patience.

"Would you just shut hell up about 'reptiles' that run the United States?" I looked him straight in the eye with almost no emotion on my face. He sputtered incredulously. I continued to stare at him. I don't know why I would say something like that, but I had already said it so I wasn't going to take it back. I might have been a wuss, but I wasn't going to be a complete social idiot. He was the first to break eye contact and looked for some back up from the other passengers. None of them responded to our situation, probably too enthralled with their own problems. Though, I thought I saw some grey-haired guy in a suit trying to hide his giggles.

He soon gave up on his mission to speak of his own opinions and turned on his computer. I mentally kicked myself. I forgot my computer and my cell phone at the house. I had planned to stay in touch with my friends, but now it was probably for the best not to contact them, since my dad was probably a murderer.

Murderer. My dad. A murderer. That's something you don't get to say that everyday. The rest of the plane ride I sat there brooding quietly.

•\•/•_•\•/•

I went through customs quite easily. The customs officer was very nice and quite pretty. She smiled while the others wore grimaces. I almost broke down crying in front of her. She seemed so calm in comparison to my inner turmoil. But, I had berated myself for that moment of weakness. I needed to get out of the airport before I really lost it.

I walked through the lobby to get outside. The city was bustling with taxis and people of all shapes and sizes. I continued to walk with my carry-on and my suitcase rolling behind me. The giggling man passed me, speaking into his phone. He looked important, in his grey suit and his black suitcase. His face distorted into disgust, probably hearing something he didn't like from his assistant. I continued to look around the large airport. It was nothing like the airport back in Kansas. It felt more open, despite having more people running around it.

I knew nothing of the plan my mom had after getting to London. All I knew was how to get to London. I didn't even know who my mom's friends were. But, I was my father's daughter. I could figure something out. I went into the first grocery store and went straight for the hair dye. My hair had to change. I looked at the prices for the red dye. I wanted to have my mother's ginger hair colour, instead of my dad's deep brown. The prices were a bit high and I didn't want to waste my money on something I could only use once. I looked around for something cheaper. Weirdly enough, there was a electric razor that was cheaper than the hair dye. I contemplated for a minute.

'Do I really want to shave my head? Not really. I like my shoulder length hair. But if Dad comes after me, I need to look different. He would probably expect my hair to be dyed, but he would never predict me shaving it all off.'

I grabbed the razor and walked up to the cashier. The old asian lady smiled sweetly at me. I faked a polite smile and handed her the product. My hands were shaking a bit. She looked stunned for a second, but then her smile returned and rang it up.

"Eighteen," she said, her voice just as sweet as her smile, and waited patiently for me to hand her the money. Mom had exchanged the money weeks ago, claiming to Dad that she bought me a new computer. I pitched in some of my money that I earned working at a local diner and Mom "borrowed" money from the bank. Altogether we had five thousand euros. I reached into my bag and pulled out the correct amount and shakily handed it to her. She immediately inserted the money into the register and handed me the receipt.

"Thank you, very much." I told her. She looked surprised at my accent, but left it alone. I'm from the U.S. so of course I am going to get weird looks over here. I better get used to it. I grabbed the razor from the counter and walked out the door. I needed to find a place to cut my hair. I know better than to cut it at the store that I bought it from. It would look too suspicious. I put the razor into my bag and headed to the nearest gas station.

I went straight to the bathroom, not even bothering to say hello to the attendant. I opened the door to the girl's bathroom and found two women gossiping in it. I didn't have the time to wait for them to get out so I checked out the guy's bathroom. It was empty. I looked around to make sure no one would see me go in. No one was around, so I stepped in and locked the door.

The urinals were covered in graffiti and grime. The walls weren't any better. It smelled of aged urine and cigarettes. I pushed my disgust aside and stepped to the sink. I ripped open the box and plugged the the razor into the outlet. I held the razor in my right hand, my thumb rubbing the switch. My doubts were now eating at my conscious.

Maybe Mom is alive and she won't be able to find me if I shave my head. Or maybe I should go back to Dad and apologise. He wouldn't be mad at me. He would think that I just got really scared. I looked up into the mirror and all my thoughts stopped.

All I could see was my dad's face, twisted in anger. Eyebrows raised on the outside, with a heavy frown. The same face that hit my mother over and over. Again and again. The same face he would make if he found me. I blinked and then I was looking at my face. My usual rosy cheeks were pale like death. My eyes were wide in fear. In all, I looked like I was a ghost. I could see the same fear in my face that I had seen in my mother's for weeks. I blinked again.

My eyes returned to the razor, inspecting it. With the flick of my thumb, the razor came to live, vibrating my hand. I looked back up to the mirror and brought the razor to the top of my head and slowly swiped backwards. My brown, curly hair fell to the sink. I stared at it for a few seconds before returning to get more hair.

When I finally finished I looked at my handiwork in the mirror. I gasped softly. I didn't see myself anymore; I saw a stranger. I saw a slave who had just broken free from the bonds of his master. I don't remember how long I stood there, looking into the mirror, but I finally stopped when a lone tear slid down the left side of my face. I quickly wiped it away and cleaned up my hair, depositing it into the trash. I reached into my carry-on and retrieved a stocking hat and sat it on my head. I unplugged the razor and put it into my bag, leaving the box with my hair. I grabbed my stuff and peeked out of the bathroom. I took a minute to inspect the store, checking for cameras. There was none.

I crept out of the bathroom and walked to the farthest aisle from the register. I quickly and quietly stuffed five water bottles into my bag along with three boxes of dry food. I was about to leave when a thought stopped me. I need to make it look like I actually bought something. I opened one of the fridges and grabbed a 99 cent water bottle and walked toward the front counter. I saw some sandwiches so I grabbed one and put it on the counter. The guy looked up and took my items and rang them.

"Eight seventy," he stated, his voice in monotone. I quickly handed him the money and grabbed the water and sandwich and walked toward the door, my heart pounding in my head.

"Hey, mate!" he called out. I froze. I took a breath and turned around with a curious expression plastered onto my face. He held his hand out to me with a closed fist.

"You forgot your change."

I mentally screamed. I shook my head and gave a polite smile and continued to the doors. I walked away nonchalantly but when I got to the end of the block, I let out a breath I didn't know I still had.

I continued walking, taking note of the street names.

•\•/•_•\•/•

After an hour of walking, I started to get tired. I hadn't slept since the night before I left. I didn't sleep on the plane, too afraid to wake up to my dad's angry face, but I had to keep walking. I needed to find a hotel that was cheap enough for me to stay at until my mom got here. If she ever did.

All the hotels were very expensive and posh. I would stick out like a sore thumb if I stayed. The sun was disappearing behind the tall buildings. I needed to find a place fast. I walked past a bank and looked at the electronic sign. It read, "5:47 PM 2 DEGREES C". No wonder it was so cold. I pulled my jacket closer around me, trying to fend off the cold. There wasn't as many people on the street as there was earlier. I heard feet hitting the ground behind me but didn't investigate. The pounding got closer and louder, so I turned my head just in time to see two teenaged boys snatch my suitcase and take off.

I stood there stunned, and when I realised what happened, the boys were out of sight. That suitcase had my new identification and around 4,700 euros. The rest of the money was in my carry-on, which was wrapped around me by the straps. I sank to my knees on the sidewalk. I was royally screwed. People passed me, hardly giving me a second glance unless it was to cast a dirty look.

I sat there for ten minutes, just trying not to cry and occasionally being bumped into by adults. I had barely any money and no more clothes. I felt guilty for stealing from the gas station, and the weight of my mother being attacked by my dad was now hitting me like a ton of bricks. I was alone in London, and Mom wasn't going to get here and make it all better. I looked around and watched the people pass by. There were business men with their clients, boyfriends and girlfriends holding each other close.

In front of me there was a woman and her son. He was probably about five or six and he was a bundle of energy, skipping alongside his mother. He bounced his blue ball as he walked. His mother chatted on her phone, barely giving anyone else the time of day.

Suddenly without warning, the blue ball bounced away into the street. The boy got a confused look on his face and quickly went after it. My eyes widened as I notice a car coming to where the ball sat. Before I could realise, my legs were moving as fast as they could. I grabbed the boy from the street and tossed him back to the sidewalk before the car would hit him.

Without a second's notice, I was flying off the roof of the car. I landed head first on the street with a loud crack. My vision blurred, and I saw that the water bottles from my bag were emptying onto the ground along with the granola that I had stolen. Pain rushed through my body and I felt something wet drain from my nose down to my cheek. Is it snot running down my face? Oh god, that's disgusting.

That thought was quickly overrode by pain. It came out of nowhere, and it was unbearable. I throbbed all over, but most of the pain was coming from my head and my left arm.

The driver and some other bystanders came toward me. The driver checked me over. He kept touching my arm and I wanted to yell at him to stop; it hurt so much. The pain got worse when the fuck-wit actually grabbed my arm and started shaking me. What the actually hell does he think that was going to accomplish?! Even though the pain was so enormous, I couldn't figure out how to scream, cry, or even laugh. It felt like my brain had just been unplugged and plugged back in again.

"Oh god! Are you okay there?" his gruff and heavy accented voice sounded. He must have been no longer than two inches from my face, because his breath covered me. It was horrible. If I wasn't in so much pain, I would have given him a lifesaver. Or, like, twenty three of them. "Oh god! I didn't see you until you hit my car! Somebody call an ambulance!"

I moved my eyes over to the sidewalk and saw the little boy staring at me while holding the blue ball. He was crying. I looked a little down and saw that he had a scrapped knee. I really wanted to ask him if he was alright, but given my current condition, I knew that was far fetched. I returned my gazed to his face, when his mother came over to him and tried to comfort him. My vision slowly faded to blackness as my eyes rolled back into my head. The same blackness that filled my mind.