Sorry guys, the first couple chapters aren't the best quality but I promise they get better! This is a story about Rosie Watson, a sixteen year old teenager who unknowingly meets Jim Moriarty's son, Will. Hopefully new chapters will go up once a week!
Chapter 1
Oh, Dad will be angry with me, Rosie thought worriedly. He doesn't like it when I'm late. Uncle Sherlock on the other hand, doesn't care as long as I'm back before midnight. Carefully, she scooped up her armful of books and headed towards the school doors. Someone stepped in her way.
"Where's the freak going?" Rosie closed her eyes. She knew that voice well. It was Sandy, the daughter of Sally and Anderson.
"What's wrong with you? Answer me!" Sandy shoved Rosie, and her books fell. Without making eye contact, Rosie knelt to gather her best friends. All of a sudden, a stream of familiar brown liquid flowed down, staining Rosie's clothes, and ruining her open books.
"Uh oh. Looks like someone had a coffee accident!" With a laugh, Sandy skirted the mess and took off down the hallway. Tears of anger and frustration filled Rosie's eyes. She hated school, for this simple reason. Uncle Sherlock and John and Uncle Mycroft could never know, because they would kill Sandy and her posse. Rosie didn't wish their irrevocable wrath on anyone. She bent down to retrieve her books, doing her best to ignore the giggles and whispers and stares.
"May I help you with that?", a polite voice asked. Rosie looked up, shocked. No one ever spoke to her. They were too afraid of inciting the popular girls wrath. A boy stared back, looking shy, yet confident. He was tall, with chestnut hair swept to the side. Gold flashed at his wrist, indicating wealth. Warm brown eyes twinkled at her.
"I...suppose so," Rosie stammered. The boy flashed brilliant white teeth and fake whispered,"I don't approve of bullies. My father always told me that if you're going to hurt someone, you'd better have a good reason."
That's not what my father told me Rosie thought. Out loud she said, "Well thank you anyways."
Lazily, the boy stacked books. "No problem," he told her, surveying her ruined outfit. Self-consciously, Rosie looked down at her coffee stained, average clothes.
"Perhaps you'd like to go for coffee? After all, it would be startlingly ironic to wear what you eat." Without waiting for an answer, the boy picked up the majority of the books and strode towards the doors. Rosie hurried to match his long strides.
"I..." She was at lost for words. Boys never asked her out, and what would John say? She remembered the girls endlessly gossiping about the latest relationships. Rosie had never gotten to participate.
A sudden spark of rebellion propelled her to say, "I'd love to. My name is Rosie, by the way." The boy grinned.
"Figured you'd say that. Name's Will." The rebellious spark sputtered, then went out. Horror shot up Rosie's spine, and she backed away quickly.
"What's wrong? Don't feel pressured, this is my first day here and I really need a friend," Will said, smiling gently. Rosie only shook her head. Sandy and every other girl in school had been talking about the new boy Will. Rosie never paid much attention to the students anyway, but she couldn't escape the gossip of Will. It would be the worst idea ever to go after the boy Sandy wanted. Her life already sucked. It would become a living nightmare.
"I...actually can't. You know, there's my dad, and there's homework and I don't want to bother you..." Rosie trailed off, realizing she was making every excuse possible. Will's sweet expression has morphed into a guarded one.
"You know, if you didn't like me you could have just said so in the first place," he snapped, hurt flashing across his face.
"It's not that-" Rosie began.
"It's fine. I get it." Will cut her off.
"I'll help carry your books, and we never have to see each other again. Deal?" Helplessly, Rosie watched as he pulled a folded up tote bag from his pocket. Pictured on it was a storybook. Will dumped the books he was carrying in the bag, and handed it to her.
"Keep it. It's probably best if you don't approach me again," he said. And without giving her a chance to respond, he walked towards the popular group which had been watching them ever since they had emerged from school. Rosie couldn't bear to watch the girls flirt, and the boys joke. It was a world she'd never be a part of. What was she thinking, saying yes to a boy? Tears brimming yet again in her eyes, Rosie climbed onto the city bus and headed home.
Out of habit, Rosie straightened the door knocker. "Hello?", she yelled walking in. "I'm home!" No answer, unsurprisingly. Sherlock and John were always running off. Dialing John's number only led to voice mail, so Rosie left a message that she was home. Despite the messy living room, she dumped her stuff on the chairs and swept into the kitchen. There was never anything edible here. She desperately needed to stress eat! Groaning, Rosie retired to her room. Her room wasn't exactly a normal sixteen year old's bedroom. Books were everywhere, and the walls had bullet holes in them. Clothes scattered the floor, and her collection of knives hung on the wall. Rosie had barely sunk down into her bed when she heard the door downstairs open.
"Rosie dear, if you're home, would you mind helping with groceries?" Mrs. Hudson's motherly voice drifted throughout the flat. Instantly, Rosie felt slightly better and jumped up to help her. Running down the familiar curve of stairs, she saw Mrs. Hudson buried underneath bags of vegetables.
Dipping her spoon into the rich, creamy tomato soup an hour later, Rosie stared at the empty chairs in front of her. Just an average night in 221B Baker Street she thought, right as John and Sherlock burst into the room.
"I told you to shoot the man, not the can," Sherlock snapped.
"How was I supposed to know? You were slurring your words!" John stomped in.
"Well duh, that's what drunks do!"
"You could have warned me!" At that, the two men looked at each other, and burst into laughter.
"It was kinda funny when I shot the can and out came the cat," John chortled.
"It bought us that extra time that's for sure," Sherlock chuckled. Rosie cleared her throat. Sherlock didn't even flinch but John jumped.
"Oh Rosie! I didn't see you there..." John trailed off guiltily as he looked at Rosie's exasperated face.
"You promised you'd eat dinner with me tonight!"
"I know, sweetheart, but Sherlock and I were on a case."
"Yeah, a case. A case that put your life in danger yet again. What would happen if you died, Dad?" Dramatic violin music filled the air, increasing the already tense emotions. Rosie swiveled to turn her attention to Sherlock, who was playing while staring moodily out the window.
"Don't think you're off the hook, Uncle Sherlock! You also promised!" Rosie's voice got higher and higher. Sherlock sighed. John wouldn't look at her.
"This isn't the second time, or the third, or even the thirtieth!" Everything that happened today caught up with her. Will's face stood out among everything.
"You always run off, without thinking. You both run towards death. What am I supposed to do, sit back and let you do your own thing? If Mom were here, you wouldn't be like this!" The words burst out of Rosie, born of heartbreak and rage and secret feelings. John made a choking noise, his fists clenched.
"Rosie!" Sherlock's voice cuts sharply through the room, carrying a hint of warning.
"No, Sherlock. You can't speak. You don't know how to deal with emotions like love, as shown by the way you treat Aunt Molly." The steely anger in Sherlock's eyes nearly stopped her but it was too late. The unspoken words poured forth from a deep, broken place inside of her.
"I know that before Mom died you actually cared. You had a family, and you wanted to keep it that way. Now, you can't even be bothered to have dinner with your own daughter!" Ignoring the horrified looks on their faces, Rosie stormed from the room and slammed the door shut behind her. Finally, she allowed herself to sob. Spending time with her family was the only source of comfort her terrible life brought. She wished she could be like her mother. Rosie had heard all her life about Mary. How she'd sacrificed so much for her family. Rosie yearned to be like her, yet she knew that she would be lucky to even be half the woman Mary was. She fell asleep staring up at the ceiling, thinking about how life could change with one bullet fired.