Disclaimer: I don't own any characters of Doyle or anything of BBC. Even though we all wish we did. Please review if you liked it and if you don't like it feel free to tell me how i can improve. :)

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I was always a peculiar child.

I didn't make friends easily.

I was always scaring adults.

I was different.

But I was okay with that because Dad always told me, "Different people are the most special people." When I was little sometimes I would cry to my parents and I would beg them to make everything stop. I didn't like what was going on in my head. The voice, always telling me stuff.

It wasn't bad stuff.

It was just stuff.

The voice would show me things that I couldn't always see. It would tell me things that I didn't always think. It was my teacher. My Dad didn't really understand. At night I could hear him and my Father fighting over it. He would yell at my Father in exasperation and my Father would say cruel, cruel things.

I would always cry.

It was my fault they fought, I hated seeing them fight.

I was a peculiar child.

When I when I was younger, I didn't think there was anything wrong in my family. We were very normal as far as I was concerned. Every Christmas, we would put up a tree and even though Father would always say "I don't understand why this is necessary. Putting a bloody tree in the living space." He would go off on a tinge about the tree but Dad would just laugh. Then everyone would come to the apartment, Aunt Molly (even though I knew she wasn't really my aunt I just didn't have the heart to tell Father and Dad that, just like I didn't tell them I knew Father Christmas wasn't real) and Mr. Lestrade and Uncle Mycroft, and Mrs. Hudson and occasionally Grandmother and Grandfather Holmes, though that was seldom. The adults would do secret Santa and I would get gifts from everyone. Mrs. Hudson would bring cookies and sweets. Father would play a piece on his violin and I would dance around.

Then it was time I started school. Father was against it. He said that I was better than all the rest of them, but it was not as nice, how he said it. Dad wouldn't have at it though. Dad is almost more stubborn then Father sometimes. So it happened that on the first of September I began my education. I was dropped off by just my Dad, Father was away that week on business.

I sat there quietly.

I think Dad was expecting me to cry or something because he kept patting my back and holding on to me. I told him I was okay, that he could leave.

I guess I hurt his feelings.

I watched as the other kids strolled in. Everyone filled in around me; I even received some pitting looks from several parents. Soon everyone was in a seat; the tables were assigned so that there would be three to each but the two on either side of me remand empty. I wasn't really bothered by this but I did feel lonely.

My Dad picked me up and asked me how my day was.

I didn't respond

I think eventually my Dad realized that Father was right. Maybe it was the fact that I cried at night about having no friends. Or the phone calls home from my teacher complaining about my behavior even though I had done nothing wrong. Maybe it was the fact that I asked a little girl why she had a mom and a dad.

She said she didn't know.

I may have yelled at her for not knowing.

I grew up without friends. My Father taught me everything I needed to know. I remember one time Dad got mad that Father wasn't teaching me about the solar system, Father said it was irrelevant.

I thought that conversation was funny.

Every Saturday if Father wasn't away on business, we would play games. Not boring games like Monopoly or Uno. Fun games. One time I insisted on Cluedo, my parents were resigned to it but eventually they gave in.

My Father was amazing when he wasn't in one of his quiet moods. Those were the worse because I couldn't talk. When I was little Dad would have to take me outside and we would go to the park. When he wasn't in a mood we would talk about different cases he was working on. He said he liked having a different pair of eyes exam his work.

As I got older I began to realize more about my parents. I know that they were trying to shelter it from me but I was going to find out one way or another. It started when I was around 12 years old. I was on the internet and I came across an article about the Great Sherlock Holmes.

I read it.

The article claimed my Father was a fake.

I couldn't read it.

I ran out of my room in tears my Father surprisingly came to my side and hugged me.

I had to tell him

He wanted to know what was wrong.

I couldn't tell him.

I told him a lie, that I can't remember and he comforted me. I felt closer to him after that. Once I gathered enough courage I began doing my own research. I wasn't too happy with what I found. My Father faked his death but tricked everyone into thinking it was real. He was claimed a fraud. I read everything I could about him.

I found my Dad's blog about him, which made me smile.

I found my Father's blog, which just confused me.

Now I had to find them.