Normally, I don't like putting an author's note above my story, but I think this situation calls for one. After all, not many of my stories has another story behind it.

This story began as a way for me to call Mello a bunch of bad names. You see, I've had problems with him ever since he snuck into a woman's bathroom (not listening to any excuses, Mello lovers; I've already heard them from my friend), and I think it's about time someone told him he's a loser. Then another one of my friends saw my first friend reading DN, and she said, and I quote, "Hey, is that a girl?" We explained to her that Mello was a guy, and guys in manga often had longer hair. Her responce was, "Ohhhhh, so he's gay." Needless to say, my other friend was not amused. She still isn't amused whenever I tell her if Mello was any less straight, he'd be a circle.

Anyway, please review with how you think; I haven't written a lot of stories that I let people read, so please please please please please leave some constructive critism. No hate reviews please!

Oh, I almost forgot, there's a sort-of reccomendation thing going on right now- check the bottom of chapter one for more details. Once chapter two has been posted, it'll be over, so please, give me your input while you still can! If you're reading this after the recommendation is no longer going on, I'm sorry for wasting some of your time reading. I'll try to do better as I go on.

Prologue: A Death In The Family

As usual, my morning began with a nightmare, screaming, and drowning inside of my sheets. I sit bolt upright in my bed, gasping as though I had run a marathon. Slowly, the darkened room familiarizes itself to me, and my gasping slowed. The more recent memories reassert themselves as the older ones fade to the back of my mind, ready and waiting to strike again. There might be the gentle breathing of the other girls here surrounding me, but I still am struck by the fierce image of everyone's back. My parents. My young friends from before my rescue. My siblings. The local firefighters who had saved me on that horrible night.

Everyone whom I had loved had turned his or her back on me far too often for me to be any other way. At first, I had sought comfort in my work. But there were only two who could bring me comfort now. One would be asleep, and I didn't want to disturb him. The other was working in a foreign country, but he had given me his cell phone number, promising me that we could always talk, no matter where he was or what time it happened to be when I called. He would answer.

I grabbed my phone from the nightstand and left, not wanting to awaken anyone else tonight. I found a nice little patch of wall outside of the dormitory and settled down against the wall. I was across the hall from the boys' dormitory, but they wouldn't hear me here. I turned the sound off and scrolled down the list of preprogrammed numbers, settling on the one at the very bottom.

I hit the call button and held the phone to my ear, needing to hear his voice. The phone rang once, twice, thrice. It rang until it hit voicemail, a simple beep taking the place of a prerecorded message. This wasn't a new experience for me; I hit the redial button, knowing that he would answer soon.

But he didn't answer the second time. Or the third. Or the seventh. Something was wrong; I'd been abandoned yet again, this time by the one person who had sworn he would never abandon me. I screamed and threw the phone at the wall, my head falling down to hit my knees so that I could sob without anyone seeing if they came out to investigate.

"Beep it, Near, go control your girlfriend so that some of us can get some shut eye!" Mello's voice carried well even through the wall. I didn't like the arrogant blond anymore than he liked me. I didn't particularly remembered the exact event that predisposed him to me although I was certain he did, but I had never liked him. When someone hates your guts with the razor-hot intensity Mello hated mine with, it's rather hard to get over that and like them back.

I heard the click as the door opened and closed again, then the sound of someone picking up my phone from where it lay beside the door. Soft, warm arms wrapped around me, pulling me gently to my feet. I looked into Near's eyes, fearing what might be in there. Disgust and horror were pretty high up there on the list, but my most pressing concern was pity. I couldn't handle pity. However, there was only compassion and a kind of gentle resignation to meet me.

"Come on, let's get you to the two-step therapy," he murmured gently, leading me away from the corridor to the small kitchen area. He put me down in a small chair and walked over to the freezer, opening it and rummaging around for an age. Finally, he pulled out a small container of ice cream. Not just any ice cream either, this was my favorite kind, Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough. It was one of the few things that could sooth me after an episode. However, it was a rare thing to find any in the freezer; Mello had a bad habit of eating it, mainly because he knew it would exasperate me.

He opened it and grimaced. "Not much left. I'm going to have to talk to Mello about devouring all the ice cream before you get any."

I smiled sadly. I knew talking to the blond wouldn't change a thing, but it would make Near feel like he was doing something to stand up to the tyrant. Near handed me the container and a spoon, taking only what he could scoop out on a finger for himself. He let me eat as much as I wanted, knowing that I needed this kind of soft-served comfort much more than anyone else did.

However, I was careful to leave some behind for the others when I put it back in the freezer. Hopefully, Mello would think we used a bowl, eat from the container, and catch some horrible disease. If I were lucky, maybe his horrible disease would make him smell like freshly caught salmon and result in him getting him eaten by a bear. Or even better, make him deathly allergic to chocolate. Yep, that one would kill him in about a day; Mello couldn't go a full five minutes without some kind of chocolate.

Naturally, the flip side of that spectrum was that I would catch some horrible disease, but I decided that seeing as Mello had already eaten some, my chances were pretty good. If there was some horrible disease, Mello should've been on his deathbed by now. Of course, that meant there was likely no horrible chocolate-killing disease in the ice cream, but I tried to keep my hopes up. There had to be some justice in the universe.

Near led me back to the girls' dorm and peeked in. No one was awake. He led me inside and settled me back down in my bed. He glanced around again, as though making sure none of the girls had woken up since his last check. Then he surprised me with the kindest act he had ever shown me.

He twitched the curtains around my bed shut, closing out the entire world. No one could see in and we couldn't see out. "Near," I whispered, not wanting him to be caught in bed with me, something that would seem much worse than it really was. We didn't feel anything more than friendship towards each other, but in this occasion, friendship could get you in trouble just as thoroughly as love.

He cut me off. "I may not know why or how, but you were broken tonight. I'm here to make sure you'll be all right in the morning," he breathed, pulling a blanket from the foot of the bed up over himself. I smiled sadly and snuggled close to him. He wound an arm around my waist, comforting me with his closeness.

My name was Sherlock. I was the last orphan to be taken by Whammy's House, and the oldest they had ever taken too. But, they had taken me in anyway. Why, you might ask? I didn't work anymore; I refused to take any but the smallest of cases. I was a wreck, so great was my terror at being abandoned. Worst of all, I was a little bit of a problem child since I was constantly fighting against Mello's tyranny, but I was the only one who seemed to get caught at it, mainly because I didn't lie about my involvement, while Mello did.

I was still here because L himself had brought me here at the age of 10, a small wisp of a girl clutching his hand in one of mine and my book of Sherlock Holmes stories in the other. That was how I actually got my nickname, Sherlock. L had rescued me from the house fire that had killed my older siblings; my parents had already died several years before in a robbery gone wrong. I had clutched his hand so hard, relieved that someone seemed to be taking care of me but terrified of him abandoning me too. Only the quiet prompting of another orphan had coaxed me from my death grip around L's arm, one with white hair and gentle words. He had been so kind to me, a newcomer, unlike his companion, a certain blond-haired tyrant. Even now, my orphan boy continued to take care of me, on today of all days, the day that my savior had abandoned me.

Near and I slept late, giving us ample opportunity to sneak him back out once the other girls had left. Unfortunately, someone worse than a girl or an administrator was waiting for us on the other side of the dormitory door when we left so that Near could change out of his pajamas. "Hello, Sherlock, Near," Mello said conversationally, as though the two of us walked out of the dorm with Near still in his pajamas everyday. He didn't have the courage to say anything in his currently outnumbered situation. Once Near went into the boys' dorm, though, he had no qualms about launching a verbal assault on me.

"So, you've finally become what I've always known you were deep down inside."

I pretended to be disinterested, knowing that disinterest would work in my favor. "And that would be?"

"A dirty ho. Did he go in there with you willingly, or did you have to seduce him?"

"You know what, Mello, shut up."

He smirked. "I knew it. You seduced him."

"Mello, three things. One: I didn't seduce him. Two: We weren't up to anything remotely like what I imagine you think went on from inside of your twisted little head. And three: You're a real donkey, you know that?"

He snorted. "A donkey? You call that an insult?"

"Go look it up in the thesaurus, and come back later. The proper word for what you are should be listed under the 'a's."

"You're a regular comedian, aren't you, Sherlock?"

"I try." Not wanting this to turn into a fist fight, as it normally would, knowing Mello and myself, I went into the boys' dorm, knocking first so that Near knew I was coming in.

He was pulling a shirt over his head, his back to me. "Having trouble with Mello again?"

"Yeah. I called him a synonym for butt that begins with 'a' and rhymes with 'grass'. Any ideas what it is?"

He frowned. "Was that really necessary?"

"Near, I can't help telling him anything but the truth, and you know as well as I do that it's true."

"Yes, but telling him that is like asking to be transferred, or worse, expelled."

"They wouldn't kick me out."

He raised an eyebrow at me, not convinced. "Sherlock, it isn't as though you do any work around here."

"Yeah, but it's not like I have anywhere else to go," I mumbled. "And besides, I'm just as smart as you are. I just don't like solving crimes anymore, that's all."

"Sher, this wouldn't have anything to do with that case you were working on a few years ago, now would it?" he asked, staring at me. I looked away, unwilling to meet his gaze. It was answer enough for him. "Sherlock, you can't let one case determine your whole career. Just because you can't solve it, doesn't mean it's unsolvable. We can ask L to take a look at it the next time he visits; maybe he can shed some light on the matter."

"Near," I interrupted his musings. "I gave that case up because I couldn't handle it. It was a personal case, so L asked me if I wanted him to look into the matter back when I dropped it, but I refused. I had already nearly lost myself to it once. I was terrified that if I let him handle it, I'd find a way to get myself sucked back into it. I was obsessed. It took everything I had just to put it away and give it up. And after that whole thing, I simply can't trust myself on any major cases anymore. L and Roger know this, and they don't push me. I know they think I'll get over it one day, but I know the truth. I know there's a beast inside of me, waiting for the right chance to slip out again. That case is dead, and I'm not reopening it. End of story."

"I'd take the case for you, Sher. You wouldn't have to hear anything about it if you didn't want to."

"Near, that case robbed me of three full years of my life. Three whole years. And I'll be danged if I let it take you too."

"Sher-"

"Near, have you ever heard the phrase, 'Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me'? That case fooled me the very moment I took it. If I took it again or let you or L take it, I'd only be letting it fool me twice. And you know I'm not one to be fooled twice."

He came over and put his hand under my chin, forcing my head up. "All right, Sherlock. We'll do this your way. I'll play Watson until you say otherwise, deal?"

"Deal," I said, my voice still rough with the memories associated with the case. We walked out, heading to our usual haunts. He began working on his unpainted puzzle, and I sat down in a chair along the wall nearby to begin working on a little translation. I was training myself to be literate in several ancient languages. Today's forgotten language was Ancient Egyptian, and I was currently working on my own translation of the Rosetta Stone.

Roger interrupted us, asking for Near. But when he caught sight of me sitting there, he said, "You come too, Sherlock. This concerns you too."

I frowned, putting my spiral notebook down on the chair. I had a bad feeling about this, and it only got worse as I followed the two out of the room. We went into Roger's office, and when I saw Mello sitting in a chair, I had a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. Mello must've told Roger about Near spending the night in my room last night, and now we were going to be given our punishments.

However, when Roger spoke, it was not to hand out disciplinary measures. Instead, he both shattered my entire world and forced some sense from it at the same time with three words. Three little words with the power to destroy the world. Three short words containing the potential to plunge the entire human population into chaos. Three seemingly insignificant words to involve Near and Mello in the hardest case of their careers, a case that was likely to result in their deaths.

"L is dead."

Paths may be long or short, criss-crossing or solitary, but they will always take you where you need to go. (This is just something I want to close all of these chapters with. I made it up myself, for Sherlock to use herself, so please don't steal it! If you do, I'll hunt you down and give you the bear-disease mentioned earlier in the prologue!)