A/N: Hello all! This is my first adventure into a crossover story. I REALLY hope you like it, I have been working this for about a month. I would love your opinions, reviews, thoughts, what you like, what you didn't.
-Summary: 13 years of pain, suffering, & a wish for death is suddenly taken away when a man with slate/blue eyes gently grabs my wrist and just gives me a smirk.
-Story revolves mostly in normal London, with some mentions of the WW, maybe an 'adventure' to it later on. fem!harry, nonromantic john/sherlock, differentish Mycroft (to a point) and Greg just being Greg.
Disclaimer: I own nothing but original characters. Duh. That is all I will say.
A/N: Ok, so a reviewer brought up the point that there is some time differences/confusion in the plot…it's a bit wibbly wobbly. So, it actually it has been 3 ½ years since Stella has been with Sherlock & John. She was about 6 months from turning 13 when she was rescued; so yah. I was originally planning the 1st chapter to be a one shot, but I fell in love with it as much as you guys; so I continued.
So this chapter will go back and forth at times, so I will be putting the past in italics, like this. Normally I use those for thoughts, but I will be doing this for thoughts.
"Now, about those letters you received."
I chuckle, pulling the letters from my side pocket; he never could let his curiosity go. Three separate, yet thick letters from a world I walked away from with no regret; I already knew what the twins & Neville would write about: jokes, missing me, pranking Percy and Ron, Herbology, Potions, jokes, & missing me. Draco, I didn't know what to expect with; so, I open his letter first, knowing dad was reading behind me. Going through the normal pleasantry, Draco then delves into more details: hmm, seems that…wow, did not see that coming; apparently he and the twins formed a new side to the war. A neutral/gray alliance that brought in people who didn't want to be forced into a war of their parent's trying to outdo one another.
"Would not have expected that from the sons of two very dark & light families. Though, Neville is too gentle a soul; war would have corrupted his innocence. The world is not prepared for twins in war; they would just let their minds go crazy in wartime. This is something I wish had been started before."
"I take it is not common to side against one's family?" Dad asked, sitting down again, me on the edge of his knees.
"It does happen, but it's rare in families like the Malfoys or Weasleys. It is even stranger to think that the twins are friendly with Draco, considering the centuries old blood feud between their families."
Dad only made a soft noise in the back of throat while I go back to the letter, instantly blushing and grabbing the letter to my chest, trying to prevent dad from reading that part. 'That twit, how could he say that?' I let the thought trail while getting my heart rate back under control.
"Stella?" Dad's voice had questions underneath my name, but I only shake my head.
"No, nope, not going to let you read that. Goodnight daddy." I respond, jumping up, ignoring the pain that arced in my head while doing so. But my wrist is held back, his hand bringing me to stand in front of him again. He had this look in his eyes that reminded me of my first time in the flat.
"Stella, you can trust me, I won't tell."
"Stella, you can trust us. We'll never hurt you." John's voice was gentle; flowing down the stairs after Sherlock closes the door behind us.
I nod. "I know." My voice is small and muffled into my coat.
I hear him move down the steps, bringing my eyes up when he eventually kneels down in front of me. "I know you know. But, I also know that you were hurt by people who were supposed to protect you; I know that kind of hurt doesn't go away after a couple weeks." His reply is hushed, for my ears only.
Resting his forehead against mine, he continues. "You will never be harmed here and you are always welcome here. This will be your home, Stella; never let anyone tell you different."
"Stella?"
Blinking rapidly, I let the memory fade away. "I know dad; just let me go through the letters first. I haven't written or spoken to them since I left and time has changed us all. I need to process their thinking patterns and…"
'Stop analyzing it like it's a crime scene.'
His gentle scoff warns me of the impending kiss that falls on my scar. "Fine, keep your secrets. Now, off to bed with you again; save the letters for the actual morning."
I nod and quietly slip back up the stairs and into my room. I curl up on my bed, eyes locked on the letters that I left on top of my laptop. I thought I wouldn't be able to sleep, even after a 'session' with dad, but my eyelids droop and I lose myself to my dream scape.
The flat isn't that large, but it is warm. I can hear the fireplace crackling from the living room, but John leads me into me into the kitchen, my hand gripped tightly in his. Sherlock was behind us, but once we reached the second landing, he stole my jacket away and strode into the other room.
"How about something to eat? I know you may not be hungry, but we need something in your stomach."
John has this ability to look very neutral while still making me feel guilty for making him sad; which is ridiculous, he is not sad. But his tone, oh that tone, made you feel like you were kicking his puppy if you went against his wishes. Because of this tone, I ignore my flipping stomach and sit in the chair he points out, seeing that he placed the chair in a position that allowed to me see into the living room, where Sherlock was moving around at an odd pace, his fingers flying over his phone.
"Here we are; some homemade chicken noodle soup. Mrs. Hudson brought some up earlier for you. You are going to fall in love with her food." John's voice was kind as he placed the large bowl of steaming liquid in front of me.
It did smell amazing, but my stomach was constricting at the thought of food. But, she was kind enough to make this; I should make an attempt to eat it, even if it felt like torture lifting my tremor filled hand to grab the spoon. Allowing the portion to cool in the metal spoon, I swallow the delicious liquid with some difficulty. Immediately, my stomach started flipping harder, causing me to grip the spoon tighter.
'I will eat this, I will not make them mad.'
I don't hear Sherlock stop moving, nor do I hear John move behind me, but I do notice his grip on the hand holding the spoon, pulling said object from me. The chair is turned and I'm suddenly eye to eye with him, his blue eyes soft as he gently hold my hands in his.
"Thank you for trying, sweetheart. I know it's hard: you're in a new place and you still think you'll be kicked out. But, I swear to you: this is your home now. You are going to have trouble with food, but we will get you back on schedule and starting putting some weight on you."
I wish I had him growing up, I wish I had Sherlock and Mycroft growing up; I know my life would be SO much different if I had grown up with them. Hell, even growing up around them would have been better. I'm not used to an adult actually caring about what happens to me, let alone doing what these men were doing. I feel Sherlock kneel down next to the chair before his hand is resting on top of my head, fingers gently carding through the locks of hair. Catching his eyes, he gives me a small smile before nodding & kissing my forehead.
My eyes snap open at the muffled ringing. That sounds like my mobile; oh that's because it is my mobile. But I left that in my bag yesterday…oh, one of the dads must have brought it up at some point. I slowly crawl out from under the covers, my body still stiff, before locating my school bag by my desk; my mobile is still ringing. Dragging the noisy item out of the bottom of the bag, I flip it open, placing it to my ear.
"Ya?"
"Stella? Where are you? It's eleven am!"
Oh, well, hello Cadence, nice weather we're having huh? She would be the first person to notice I didn't come to school. "Good morning to you too, Candy."
"Don't call me that and don't divert: where are you?" So, chemistry must have tiffed her off; she was never this bitchy unless Mrs. Davis was being all stubborn and…well, let's not go there.
"I'm at home, obviously. Not using your brain cells today, Cadence?"
"Shut it!"
Sighing, I rub my temples; this is the last thing I need. "I'm sorry Cadence. I can't tell you what, but something happened after school on the way home. I got hurt, so the dads and the uncles want me home for a while."
Silence greeted me and I could practically hear the wheels in the redhead's mind working. "It was that bloody twit, wasn't it? I will kill her, that little cunt."
There it was: Cadence's fabulous anger and her wonderful use of the Queen's English. I adored the Scotswoman; she never ceased to amaze me when it came to rage. "Don't you dare. Let Uncle Greg handle it, ok? He is on a warpath, as is my Uncle Mycroft."
I can hear her grumble before she answers. "Ok, FINE. When will you be back, chickie?"
"Don't know, at least a few days. I'm stiff and sore and some wounds are still opening up at times, but da's taking real good care of me. Listen, can we talk later?"
After extracting a promise to call her by at least tomorrow, Cadence hung up and I flipped the mobile shut before placing it down on the nightstand. Stripping out of my pajamas, I don loose clothing again, not wanting the pressure to aggravate my wounds anymore then my moving was. I can hear someone moving around the kitchen, most likely da; so that means dad was in the living room again, more than likely working on a case…or you know, watching crap telly again. Grabbing my mobile again after I wrap my torso in a warm jumper, I found several messages from Cadence since this morning, like normal and three missed calls with accompanying voicemails from her as well. 'She doesn't give up, that's for certain.'
After slipping the device into my pocket, I open my door to find the house filled with the scent of my absolute favorite food: da's apple cinnamon pancakes. He started making them for me after another one of my late night/ early morning nightmares kept me up and dad was actually sleeping, so da decided to have a midnight breakfast with me, one of many bonding nights when dad succumbed to his body's demand for sleep; not that he ever got very much of it. I make it down the steps without any pain, seeing da in the kitchen, in his own world, a large stack of the delicious hotcakes on the table. Dad, on the other hand, was in his chair, knees drawn up to his chest, eyes closed while his hands moved randomly through the air. So, in other terms, he is in his mind palace, processing either the current case or what happened yesterday with me or, more than likely, both at the same time. The ottoman is pulled close to his chair, the case files from Uncle Greg spread out in a chaotic pattern that was clearly my dad's. Standing next to him, I read over the file, taking in the facts: twins found murdered by the same methods, although one was in Essex and the other in Paris; heirs to their parent's fortunes, both unmarried with no children, but long term partners; locations of bodies miles from where they should have been…confusing facts, but if anyone can figure it out, it's dad.
"What do you think?"
"Don't know, I haven't read up on all the facts and information. Has anyone looked at the wills? Do they name these partners at all?"
Falling into this routine lets me forget for a moment that I'm still covered in bruises and dried blood, in the case of my scalp. Early on, I was always fascinated by dad's work and he began teaching me deductive skills, although I am still nowhere near his abilities. It was just another thing that drew me closer to him, so when he sat me down one day to ask if it was ok to adopt me, I could express confusion, because I thought he had already done this, drawing a laugh from da and Uncle Mycroft.
"Oi, either you eat some of this, or I eat it all." Da called from the table, silverware clinking against the plate.
"DADDY!" Letting my voice whine, I race into the room, pulling a rather large stack onto my plate, mock-glaring at him.
The time passed by in relative silence, allowing me to gather my thoughts after a long rest and a full stomach. I knew that someone was going to be charged for the assault, but knowing this and it actually happing to the whole group were two separate agendas. The CCTV footage would play a key role, but knowing that Uncle Greg & Mycroft would view it multiple times and then the footage would be used in any court proceeding sank my heart. Then it would only be a short time before the school found out the truth; last thing I need is another student body either worshipping or vilifying me.
I'm brought out of my thoughts by da standing at the sink, already washing the dishes. I jump up and help him, somehow getting soap & water all over my jumper while he remained dry through the whole adventure. Dad was pacing between the kitchen and hallway now, fingers steepled under his chin; the case must be twisting with no turns for him to be pacing like that. Normal case pacing is usually kept to the living room. I can't help the smile that spreads when he starts mumbling out loud in his usual gibberish, Sherlock speech, but my attention is drawn away from him when my mobile goes off again.
"Is that Cadence?" Da asks, drying the last dish.
"No, she phoned earlier, that's what woke me up." Pulling the device out of my pocket, I see the caller id reading 'unknown'. "Hello?"
"You little bitch, I am going make you regret your very breath!"
Her. Well, there goes my morning; how does she have my number? I feel my body stiffen and I know my face paled when the dads got very concerned. Quietly, I move the phone from my ear and put in on speaker, Lucille's voice soon filling my kitchen.
"Do you even know what you did? You bleeding snitch, my parents had to pull me from Scotland Yard! Oh, I am going to end you, you blood wretch, do you hear me? I will kill you. Should have let Joff throw you in the Thames like he wanted! Did you hear me, freak?"
Dad's eyes darkened with every word & I can see da shaking, the dish towel getting beat up.
"Oh, we hear you." Dad's voice was deep, ice in every word, as he grabs the phone from my hand.
Lucille was always a snarky, vindictive bitch, but she wasn't that idiotic. Her line quickly hangs up, but dad was already phoning Uncle Mycroft. I'm still rooted to the spot, anger and fear running through me as I again recall yesterday; my body suddenly aches more, the bruises throbbing.
"Is everything alright? I heard a rather rude voice just now."
Bless you Mrs. Hudson, always knew how to break a mood.
"Just some idiotic phone call, Mrs. Hudson." I respond, giving her a weak smile.
But, then I remember she had not been there last night, so she had no idea what had happened. So the look of shock and horror on her face is somewhat warranted; thus, I allow her to go into mother hen mode, rushing about, pushing me back into the living room, into dad's chair with the order of not moving until she came back with a fresh pot of tea. All that without her customary 'not your house keeper' line.
Explaining this to her would not be fun.
Meeting the landlady, Mrs. Hudson, was an adventure of 'not moving back from her gentle touches even when I wanted to because she is being super nice to me'. She was really kind, but very hands on and right now, that is the last thing I need; I just got away from Molly Weasley, I don't want another one. Sherlock must have sensed this, because he picks me up, soothing tremors I didn't even know were starting; I can hear John reassuring Mrs. Hudson it wasn't her fault, I was just easily overwhelmed right now. Sherlock scoffs & walks back up the steps, my face tucked into his neck.
"She is very nosy and is a busy body, but she does make good biscuits." He says this quietly into my hair, sitting down in his chair, pulling me tight to his chest.
Something about the scent of pine/rain just relaxed me, making it easy to start lulling off while Sherlock again carded his fingers through my hair, his own eyes closed.
A fresh, hot tea cup placed in my hands jars me from the memory, Mrs. Hudson's teary eyes watching me before she left the room, anger and sadness overtaking her usual calm demeanor. I watch her go, ignoring da's movement around the room while dad was again texting either of my uncles.
Speaking of them,
"I'm going to go to Uncle Mycroft's today. I know you need to work on this case and I need to get some air. No dads, no argument; besides, I haven't been there in a while."
Silence greets my ears, prompting me to look up to see them both looking at me with some questions in their eyes, but they both eventually nod. A minute later, my mobile pings; damn you and your bugs, uncle. I take my mobile back from dad, flipping the item open, seeing the confirmation from my uncle and this, 'we also need to discuss HER and you also have a…visitor here.'
Well, please do try and be just a little bit vaguer there, why don't you uncle?
A/N: AND Cut! Oh wow, ok thanks for all the love. Any ideas as to who this visitor is? Any?