Disclaimer: I don't own BBC Sherlock
AN: This was intended as a one-shot for a friend of mine but as you can clearly see from the ending, it's got more potential. Not sure on updates, have nothing written up yet. Just wanted to post this.
Annabelle Watson, sister of the blogger Doctor Watson has been caught between a rock and a hard place. She was seen knocking hysterically on the door of 221b Baker Street, her hands & face covered in blood. A mystery...A pool of Blood...& A body missing. Who else was going to take the case but the famous Sherlock Holmes but will it be enough to clear her name?
March 15th – 11am
Annabelle Watson was, for all intent and purpose, a delightful young woman who enjoyed the quiet life and refused to get involved with her brother's adventures. While he was out fighting crime with the famous Sherlock Holmes, Annabelle was quite content to sit in the library and read. While her brother was screaming in agony over the latest injury received, Annabelle was busy lounging by her pool or tutoring under privileged children.
As siblings they were vastly different. John Watson was 'war damaged' though he wouldn't admit to it. He was stubborn and easily angered. Annabelle had tried to offer him help and money when he'd returned but the angry explosion of words she'd received wasn't work the pain. It wasn't her fault that she had money, a brain that could easily navigate investments in a way that always resulted in profit.
Regardless, Annabelle's life and situation had nothing to do with the events of the day.
She'd been the victim of an anonymous stalker for some months now. It started with letters, sinister death threats and then morphed into violent break-ins, bloody notes and spine chilling moments where she knew she was being watched.
Sure she could have told her brother but that would have meant putting up with Sherlock Holmes and after their first disastrous meeting when she left in tears, she'd avoided him at all cost. She was of the mind that no one else needed to be involved. She'd solve it herself or she'd die trying to protect those she loved.
All her possessions and monies were tied up in ironclad will's anyway, so should she die they would go to the designated people chosen without issue.
…
She tried not to walk out alone. She had a bodyguard to protect her at all times yet for this, his day off, she'd chosen to venture out of her house alone. Why?
Shivers ran up her spine as she walked, alone and with fear coiling in her stomach. She smelt burning and her hands curled into fists without her knowledge. She stopped dead on the path between the local park and the back end of some buildings.
1. 2. 3. She paused. There was that familiar feeling. The one where she knew she was in trouble. The one that reminded her how stupid she was. Breathe, in and out. Relax. Calm. Nothing is wrong. You are safe.
Except she wasn't safe. Words were just words when actions contradicted them. She should have stayed in her house where it was safe. She should have done a lot of things differently in hindsight.
She started walking again. One foot in front of the other, her rhythmic movements calming her soul to the point that she could walk freely without looking like a caged animal. Her heart skipped a beat and at that moment a pair of vice like arms wrapped themselves around her.
"Lookie, lookie, out alone are we?"
His breath smelt like mould and acid. It felt like it was burning a pattern across her cheek.
She struggled against his grip and he bit her. Pain erupted from her ear, the easiest part of her he could reach. He'd bitten down so hard that he'd drawn blood. The pain was so intense she was sure he'd bitten off part of her ear. It caused her to shut down, to stop struggling, which is was he wanted in the first place.
"Good girl, such a good girl."
He sniffed her, behind the ear and under her hair. She felt the bile rise up her throat but fought the urge to vomit. She wriggled again though she hadn't meant to.
A searing pain, worse than that of her ear burst into her lower side between her hip and her stomach. Hot blood pooled and ran down her side. What had he attacked her with? A knife? A gun? Was she to bleed out here?
"I've been waiting so long for this…so long. Tracked you for so long, know everything about you. You're like an obsession that needs to be cured."
He licked his way up her cheek with his tongue. Annabelle couldn't think clearly, she couldn't see clearly and she wondered what would come of this.
"So sweet, I'm going to enjoy this," he laughed manically. "I didn't even realise the connection. Annabelle Watson, any relation to THE Doctor Watson? That ponce, Sherlock's 'companion'…imagine their faces when they find your mangled body discarded here. Oh the chase will be the best ever. I cannot wait!"
His hands were everywhere on her. She begged to every deity she knew that someone would come along and save her but no one answered her prayers.
She elbowed him, by accident and in an attempt to free herself. It must have hurt him for he loosened his grip. She felt for sure that this was her chance to get away but in his anger her tightened his grip once more before forcibly pushing her to the ground. Her knees grazed and bloody, she could feel her resolve slipping. If no one was to save her then was this really the way she wanted to go out?
Opportunity strikes at the least obvious moment. For Annabelle it was the sight of a fairly large stone just within her grip. She managed to pick it up in a stealthy way that surprised her.
Roughly grabbed, she was turned so her back lay upon the damp ground and her jumper was roughly ripped from her body. Left in her black camisole she was understandably worried.
Her attacker was no less familiar having seen his face for the first time. Who was this man who had decided to torment her life? Who had decided to attack her? Who had decided that her life was worth ending?
Boldness and braveness surrounded her soul in a last ditch effort to free herself and as his hands came down to attack her once more, her hand swung up, rock in hand and struck. He reeled back but she wasn't finished, again and again she struck him till the front of his head was covered in blood and he lay on the floor groaning.
She was completely overtaken by anger and her fear of everything that had happened and could happen. She kicked him in the chest, once, twice. She knew she wouldn't do much damage but hoped it would be enough. He wasn't moving. Even his groans had stopped. She was covered in blood, her own and his. She touched her ear, she had been right, part of it was missing. She touched her side, her hand came away with more blood. The wound didn't seem that big. Not a gunshot then.
Had she killed him?
Oh god, she had?! She was a murderer.
She felt sick to her stomach between the blood loss and the act she might have just committed.
Her brother, her brother could help her. Sherlock Holmes was a dick but he could solve this couldn't he. She turned to make sure her attacker was still down but there was no one there. Where had he gone? Only a pool of his blood on the ground remained.
Annabelle was terrified out of her mind. Hysterical almost as she ran from the secluded area between the park and the buildings. She knew she looked a sight from the screams and gasps of those she passed but she couldn't help it. She ran harder and faster than she ever had before. Her muscles were screaming but she still didn't stop.
Only when she stood before 221b Baker Street did she stop and she swapped her hysterical running for hysterical knocking at the door.
The door opened suddenly and Annabelle almost fell head first into the open doorway.
"What the…Annabelle?"
Mrs. Hudson had opened the door. Annabelle had met her once.
"John," she said between her gasps of pain.
"SHERLOCK! JOHN!"
Her frightened scream sent thundering footsteps from above to stomp down the stairs towards them.
John Watson took one look at his sister before he exploded into over-protective angry big brother mode. Sherlock stood silently and observed her like an ant under a microscope.
"What happened?" asked John.
"I think I killed someone…"
"WHAT?"
"I must be wrong…they walked away but left their blood behind."
"Are you covered in their blood?"
"No," she faltered.
The toll of losing blood had reached its peak. She toppled to the floor in pain as no one had expected her to fall.
John was on his phone, something about an emergency.
Yes, this was an emergency.