Hello there! I really hope you like this story. I'm not really sure where the idea came from, but I don't think it's that bad. Here it is, chapter one of...

A Promise Well Kept

By the way, I don't own anything except for my OC's.

Chapter 1

He was just riding home in a cab. It was just a normal day. It wasn't a day he would've expected something terrible to happen. So when he turned down his street to see smoke rising in the sky, he was very surprised. He was even more surprised to see his flat going up in flames. The landlord, Charlie, was standing outside; calling for help on his mobile phone. He ran over to Charlie with his heart pounding and his head filled with worry.

"What happened?" he demanded as Charlie hung up. "Where are they?" The landlord suddenly looked afraid.

"I didn't think they were in," he murmured. "When I smelled the smoke and saw the fire, I just got out. I thought you had all gone out." At Charlie's words, he started running toward the flat; hoping that the landlord was correct in assuming no one was home. He heard a crash and a scream though, and his hopes were destroyed. He ran for the sitting room window on the bottom floor where he lived, and his little girl stumbled toward the window as the room burned around her.

"Daddy... help!" she choked when she reached the window he was trying to open.

"Cover your face with your shirt," he ordered; searching around on the ground for something to break the window with. He spotted a metal pipe that had broken off the side of the building, and he returned to the window as his wife joined his daughter there. She scooped up the little girl, and held her tight.

She and her husband exchanged a glance, and she backed away from the window so he could break it. He hadn't even made his first swing though when the ceiling collapsed.

"Sherlock!" his wife screamed just before he lost sight of her.

Her scream. Her scream was always what woke him from his nightmares. It made him wake up in a different bed, in a different flat, and at a time where the fire that had taken everything he had was in the distant past.

Sherlock wiped away the tears on his face. He couldn't let anyone see how weak he was. He didn't want anyone to know why he loathed sleep. Not even his nosy brother knew. He couldn't tell Lestrade or Mrs. Hudson or even Molly that the cases and the drugs, the experiments and every other peculiar thing he did was to keep his mind off the horrible day that still tortured him all the time.

Because "bored," really meant "haunted."

Nine years earlier...

Her mother had told her to hold tight to her hand. That was all she knew. She didn't know where they were going, but she was scared and cold and her tattered clothes were covered with soot and ashes. "Where's Daddy?" the three-year old asked her mother for the fourth time. The woman sighed. Her daughter had always been very close to her father. She looked down at the little girl, who had her father's piercing eyes and curly dark hair. Then she knelt beside her.

"We can't see Daddy anymore, sweetheart," she murmured. "It's just going to be you and me from now on." The girl rubbed at her eyes with her tiny fist so her mother wouldn't see her cry. She shoved away the image of her father's panic-stricken face outside the window.

"Ok Mummy," she whispered. Her mother scooped her up, and began walking again. They had to get out of the country. Jim was still looking for her. She sighed. She could've never told her husband about all the trouble she had gotten herself into. She was a wonderful liar, and the only person who could ever fool her husband. Suddenly, a black car pulled up on the curb nearby, and laughter came from the alleyway beside her. She held her daughter closer; knowing the voice in the darkness before the figure emerged. He smirked at her.

"Michelle, Michelle," he murmured; still laughing to himself. "You've been a very naughty girl, haven't you?" A large man stepped out of the car, and Michelle pulled her daughter even closer.

"Jim please," she begged the first man. I can pay you back. I just need a little time."

"Sorry. Time's up." Jim yanked the tiny girl from her mother's arms, and each one screamed at the separation. Michelle's scream was cut short though as a bullet went into her back. She fell to the ground in a heap, and the large man dragged her into the alleyway. Jim smiled at the girl as he placed her on the ground beside her dying mother. "Choose your friends carefully little one," he warned. "People are evil in this world." Then, just like that, the car and men were gone.

"V-Violet..." her mother gasped. The three-year old crawled over to Michelle, who gently wiped a tear away from her daughter's cheek. "You'll be ok..." she whispered. "Daddy will find you... I ...I love you..." Then she closed her eyes, and the little girl began to cry. She sat in the dark as the moon moved higher and higher into the sky. She didn't hear another human sound besides her own weeping until her mother was cold to the touch.

Dr. John Watson was not one to stay out very late. He only had one more month in London though, and was lucky to be allowed that long. He didn't have many friends, so it was odd that he had stayed out late walking that night. Something gave him the urge to stroll under the stars though. John glanced down at his watch. It was almost midnight, and he decided to head back home. That was when he heard the crying. It was a child, and the doctor and soldier in him told him that this was not a situation to just pass by. He moved closer to the sound, and didn't stop until he saw a woman's pale hand sticking out of a dark alleyway. He crouched down quickly next to the woman to take her pulse, but her skin was white as a sheet and cold. He put two of his fingers on the side of her neck anyway, but the woman was obviously gone. She had been dead for hours.

Then John suddenly realized he could still hear the crying. He whirled around to find a tiny girl cowering behind a box. When their eyes met she ducked down, and he felt like his heart had cracked in two. The child was afraid. She had probably seen what had happened. He stood and stepped cautiously toward the girl. "It's all right," he murmured into the darkness. "I'm not here to hurt you." All of a sudden, he was directly in front of her, and she curled up into a trembling ball against the box. John didn't know much about children. He had been the youngest in his family, but he did know they preferred to see adults at eye level. He crouched down again, and held out his hand. "I won't hurt you," he promised her again. "I just want to help you."

The little girl inched closer; remembering Jim's words. The man in front of her had a kind face and a soft gaze though. His outstretched hand was palm up, so she knew he had no intention of grabbing her. The man bit his lip as she looked up into his eyes. He was trying to think of a way to coax her out into the open. He wanted to make sure she wasn't hurt. "My name is John," he whispered. "Can you tell me your name?" The three-year old nodded slowly, and she moved a little closer. Now John could see the dark thick curls that framed her face. He was surprised. He could tell she was the dead woman's child, but she didn't resemble her mother all that much. She glanced over at her mother, and more tears welled up in her eyes.

"My name is Violet," she stammered. Then she began to sob profusely. John gently reached out to touch her shoulder. Then she jumped up and embraced him; knocking him backwards to sit on the ground. Violet wrapped both her arms and legs around John's middle, and cried into his jumper. He hesitated at first, but he felt that the little girl had put her trust in him so he put his arms around her.

"Shh," he whispered; stroking her hair. "I've got you. You're safe." John shifted the child in his lap, and pulled out his phone; realizing that it was a good thing his sister had forced him to get one. He called the police, and when he hung up, he pulled off his jumper. He shivered. His button-down shirt was thin, but he knew Violet needed it more than he did. He pried her off of him for a moment, and held up the jumper for her to see. She seemed to understand, and held up her arms so he could slip it over her head. He almost smiled at how tiny she was compared to his jumper, but he knew the situation was not something to smile about. Violet sniffed one more time, and wiped her eyes with the sleeve.

She sat quiet in John's lap. She wouldn't meet his eyes, and she looked ashamed of herself. "Hey," John murmured; lifting her chin. "Everything will be ok." He brushed away the last remnants of her tears with his thumb.

"You're nice," Violet replied quietly. She seemed about to say something else, but was interrupted by the sirens of the police cars. She buried her face in his chest again, and held on tight. "Don't let them take me away," she begged. John didn't know what to say, so he just held her again.

"I won't," he finally whispered as an officer approached them. "I promise."