AN 1: Hi people. This is my first attempt on this account to write a multi-chapter fic. As always, I own nothing. Trigger warning: Victoria attempts suicide in this chapter, and I'm pretty explicit in my description. I know Mary's a bit of a bitch in this one, but I just wanted to experiment with that portrayal. I actually really like the character, just wish that she didn't exist. Sherlock might be a bit OOC, but that's because this is an AU where Sherlock was raising Victoria when John met him. John doesn't actually pity them, that's just Mary being manipulative.

AN 2: The chapter of this title comes from the Vocaloid song World's End Dancehall by Luka and Miku. The title of the story comes from the Vocaloid song Kagome Kagome, also sung by Luka and Miku. I don't want ff. net to freak out on me, so you'll have to google them. Sorry. They're really good, but Kagome Kagome is in the horror genre, and the characters of WEDH kill themselves, so they aren't for everyone.

Chapter 1: World's End Dancehall.

"Kagome, Kagome," I sang softly to myself. Circle you, circle you. A song based off a creepypasta that I'd covered, and that had ended up being the reason I was about to hang myself. "Kagome, Kagome," I'd shown her the song because I'd thought she'd like it. I'd started considering John my second dad a little while ago, and since he was dating Mary I wanted to see if I could extend my small definition of family to her. It was the first cover I'd ever made, and I'd spent a month working on the video and the audio.

Her reaction was the polar opposite of positive. Bad enough that she was completely freaked out by the song (it's about Nazis who experimented on young Japanese children, I know not a good song for a 14 year old to listen to, but it's really good, trust me on this), but it also seemed to cement in her mind that I was a freak, like my dad.

Before I showed her the song, I was ignored by her. I might as well have been a piece of furniture for all she cared. After, she made a point to be mean to me. I heard her say to a friend once that her reason was that she thought that I would get between her and John. Unlikely. While I could see that my two dads were very much in love, I am not one for matchmaking. Also, dad would have reacted badly to any attempts to convince him that John's reciprocation of his feelings was anything but projection on his part.

It started out as a small thing. She refused me to call me by name. My name is Victoria Holmes-Watson (well, actually just Holmes, but I started tacking the Watson on soon after John started living with us), but she'd call me "you," or "she" if referring to me in the third person.

It then progressed to that classic name bullies like to call members of the Holmes family, "Freak." I pretended to ignore this, but it hurt. Because when does being called a freak not hurt? But it wasn't any worse than I'd gotten at school, so I didn't react.

After John and Mary's relationship started splintering, as both dad and I had predicted but had been scared to state, she started verbally abusing me. Mary told me that John only stayed with dad because he thought that I was being abused, and that he pitied me for having a father like him. And since she'd also convinced John that we needed a break from him, I actually started to believe her.

I don't think she realized this, but us Holmes have a history of low self-esteem issues. My Uncle Mycroft has a disturbing combination of bulimia and anorexia that manifests itself whenever something bad happens at work, and my dad has a form of bipolar disorder that is the cause for his violent bouts of boredom or extreme spurts of agitation. I'm "lucky" in that I have textbook bipolar. Sort of. Because the depression is rare, but when it hits, it hits me bad. And when it hits I am utterly convinced that I am a worthless human being utterly devoid of any reason for existence, but also that I am completely unworthy of affection Which annoys Margo (my girlfriend) to no end, as she is constantly telling me that I am awesome.

So not only did this keep me from trying to split her and John up (unnecessary, as she was doing a good job of it herself, being a whiny clingy bitch) but it drove me into frequent bouts of depression. The kind of depression that makes it hard to get up out of bed in the morning.

Sherlock noticed and tried to help. Contrary to popular belief, he is an amazing dad. But I believed Mary, though I didn't tell anyone what she said, so I refused to let him tell John. I didn't want to be a burden on him, because I thought that it was my fault that John had picked Mary over Sherlock. Of course it had turned out to be because both my parents are dunderheads who can't recognize love until it bites them in the arse, but I didn't know this at the time.

The particular day I planned to hang my self was the Sunday following a bad week. John and Mary were gone on some sort of romantic vacation, and dad was away on a case. Being home alone wasn't what troubled me. John wouldn't answer any of my texts or emails, and the one time I called, Mary picked up and told me that John was getting annoyed at the calls and texts, which were, in his mind "interrupting his time with Mary."

As you can probably guess, this didn't exactly help my guilt, or my depression. So that day I woke up with the ambition to kill myself. I had a rope, since Sherlock had some for reasons I could not always understand, and there was a light fixture on the ceiling of the living room that I could tie it too.

I dragged a chair from the kitchen and brought it under the fixture, then got onto the chair and tied the rope into a noose, securing it so it wouldn't snap.

I put on the floor next to the chair a USB drive with "please open," written in sharpie on it. I'd put my cover of "World's End Dancehall" on it, and a short note apologizing for all the trouble I'd put John through, and an assurance that Sherlock wasn't abusive. Also a hope that the two of them could be happy together, after his relationship with Mary ran its course.

Then I stepped back onto the chair and carefully placed the noose around my neck. Closing my eyes, I kicked back against the chair, toppling it and placing all the weight around my neck. I heard footsteps, but I was convinced they were only my imagination, the firing of neurons in a dying brain. The choking sensation in my throat increased, and then there was only blackness.

AN: Please review! They are like cookies. I love them a lot.