Author's Note: Well this should be fun for me to write since I'm making it up as I go along (oh I love my mind!) and I should be doing Chem revision so... this is far more fun in my opinion! I thought that since we're coming up to Halloween and such that I should get into the spirit of things and do something spooky!
P.S: The only difference between this little 'verse and the Sherlock!Verse is the fact that I've made John into the oldest sibling (because it makes it SO MUCH EASIER for me!)
Tell me what you think of this please people and I hope you all enjoy it, Kasey =]
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SHERLOCK
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I CAN SEE YOU
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CHAPTER ONE
Baby Johnny
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John H Watson has never been what people would class as being an ordinary person, not when he was young and not now when he's in his mid-thirties and running around London like he's some bloody superhero; granted without the tights. Sherlock thinks he's normal and 'pedestrian' but John wishes he was normal; normal sounds so much better than what he really is... a creep...
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When Gemma Myers was in her late teens, just a month away from turning nineteen, she spent a night with her boyfriend which in turn resulted in her winding up married and with a small baby attached to her arm during every waking moment. Gemma Myers, before that fateful night, had been considered somewhat odd but ultimately kind and loveable; as was the girl's nature. She was the type of young lady that would help the oldies to cross the street with their shopping, tend to an injured child that had fallen off their bike and skinned a knee, and offer assistance to a number of people regardless of their problems and professions. All-in-all Gemma Myers was the perfect girl, the perfect daughter and, most importantly, the perfect friend.
The young fellow with whom she had been seen holding hands with constantly had a less than reputable reputation, but all the locals knew that he was just a young lad who had lost his way due to the lack of a father-figure in his life. He was rugged and good-looking in a way not unlike that of James Dean; which needless to say made him into quite the love-interest of a fair number of star-struck girls. This James Dean lookalike ran with one of the big gangs of the city they lived in and was fairly high-up in regards to their social-structure; bearing the rank of being Second In Command of the gang and holding the rather disturbing nickname of Tommy Gunner. Obviously a nod to the favourite weapon of the Mafia; the Tommy Gun.
Together these two produced quite the beautiful, if a little plain, child who retained qualities from both of its parents; most notably the startling blue eyes of his father and the gentle blondie-brown of his mother's fair hair. What was the most unusual thing about this small child was that it never cried after the initial shock of being unceremoniously dragged from the comforting warmth of the uterus; even when said child had been teething no sound ever passed its lips bar a whimper or whine of discomfort.
Though it was unusual both of its parents merely assumed that it merely a quirk of their child; after all, it was not uncommon for a child to have a quirk or two that they would eventually grow out of. However, it was uncommon, and something unnerving, that this child had so many little quirks which made themselves known as he continued to grow.
And so it seemed that the life of one John Watson would never be what is considered 'normal'.
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When John was five he, seemingly suddenly, developed the ability to speak; which wouldn't have been so strange had it not been for the simple fact that everytime he had even opened his mouth no sound had escaped. Absolutely nothing.
So on the day that John, or Johnny-boy as his father affectionately called him, began to speak his mother had been quietly preparing him a birthday cake, as she had done for the last four years, and as result cut her finger on the large kitchen knife held in her hand as her son uttered the first words she'd ever heard from his mouth, "There's a little boy standing next to you mammy."
As Gemma Watson dropped the knife on the side, and hastily stemmed the blood running down her hand, she looked at her son and then down at her side. She froze at the sight before her because there was no 'little boy' anywhere near her except her own son.
And that was the first day that Gemma Watson realised that her son was more 'odd' than she had ever been.
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Perhaps it was the fact that her first child was 'abnormal' or that Gemma Watson felt that he needed a sibling so as to distract John from his increasingly disturbing comments about little things; like dancing children in the middle of the M1 or the old lady who lived down the road sitting in their kitchen when she'd died a month ago, but by the time John turned six he suddenly discovered that he now had a little sister.
To some degree John didn't like his little sister, she was loud and messy and constantly threw things at him, but he also felt very protective of her; moreso than he did of his toys that he kept hidden to stop the 'other' children from hurting them.
And maybe, in hindsight, Gemma Watson realised that having another child wasn't all that good an idea; especially after the steps John took to keep her safe.
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It was a sunny day and Gemma and Thomas; Tommy Gunner's Christian name, decided that it would be a good idea to take their two children for a stroll in the nearby park; after all, there was nothing stopping them from being a family apart from John's occasional comments. After a promise made to his mother; resulting in John agreeing to not breathe a word about 'other' children and people that weren't meant to be there, and they were off to the park.
Harriet was gurgling away in her pram and shaking her toy rattle which had been John's when he'd been a baby; though, unlike Harriet, John had never shook it. Baby John had simply gripped it in an impossibly strong grip as though he were terrified of something. Gemma and Thomas were walking hand-in-hand whilst they both pushed the pram with their free hand and John trailed behind them, looking at the ground and scuffing his shoes on the soft tarmac path.
When John looked up to see where he was going he almost shouted out at what he saw, but he'd promised his mammy and he didn't want to break his promise, so instead of shouting out he hurried up to the pram and gripped the side of it; ignoring his mammy and daddy asking him what he was doing, and whispered at his sister quiet enough so that his mammy couldn't hear him, "cry Harry, cry please."
And cry she did, baby Harriet began to bawl and sob as Gemma hurriedly swept her out of the pram and into her arm whilst John was told off for scaring Harriet by his daddy; but Harriet was safe, which was what mattered to John. But John wasn't safe, he never was.
As his daddy pulled him home, his mammy trailing behind pushing the pram and trying to calm down the sobbing Harriet, John felt clammy hands pull his other arm and he felt like he was being pulled apart even though he was still moving in the direction of home. Sharp and tough nails dug into his arm and he whimpered quietly because John never cried, crying was bad, so no-one noticed that it wasn't his daddy's grip on his arm that he was whimpering at but rather the trails of scratch-marks which ran the length of his right arm.
By the time they arrived home John's arm felt like it was on fire and, when his daddy ordered him to his room, John didn't pause or try to explain anything as he fled and hid under his bed; gripping his favourite action-figurine tightly in his little hands as though it could protect him.
It couldn't.
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To Be Continued...
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