Disclaimer: I own no sherlock what so ever. All characters (a side from Hamish) is a work of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. I only own the plot and the events that take place in this fic.
Hope You Enjoy :D
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It had taken me less than five minutes to leave.
I had scrawled a note to Mrs. Hudson explaining where I was.
Well actually no, it read more like:
Dear Mrs. Hudson,
Don't worry, I'll be back. Eventually that is. Just don't call the police.
With so much love,
Hamish
I didn't have time to tell her where I was and if she was as smart as I thought she was, she probably already knew what was going on. I could practically hear her in my head, "You are so much like your father, dear." I knew I was just like him. At first, I was against the idea that I had an ounce of similarity to him, not because I hated him or thought that he was a bad person, but because I felt an expectation. I thought people would think that I had the same extraordinary talent as he. This basically explains my teenage rebellion that I don't think my parents were expecting.
Predominantly, Father.
He wasn't very good at children to begin with and I caused him so much strife.
I would come home smelling of cigar smoke, which killed my Father because he was trying to quit the habit. I never actually told them I wasn't the one smoking it was my "friend" doing the smoking. I would play this terrible music that I didn't even like. I had posters of heavy metal bands that I faked liking. I hid liquor under my mattress that I never drunk. I would act terribly in public. I was trying to destroy the reputation my parents had built up for me.
I never told them why I was acting so terribly.
I kind of half wanted my Dad and Father to ask me what was going on. They just looked really sad when I was with them, which was one of the reasons why I couldn't hold the act up. The other half of me thought that my Father would pick up on what was going on. That he would "read" me and know, just like with one of his clients. I guess I was wrong.
I did apologize eventually though.
By now I was near the end of the street. I had a general idea of where I was headed so I continued walking. It had started getting dark when I realized I had no clue where I was. Father had made it a large part of my learning to educate me on the Streets of London. I wasn't as successful as he had hoped. I knew the majority of the street names and the buildings that could be or could not be found on a street but as for the rest of them, well I just didn't know. I kept walking and talking random lefts and rights until I found myself on a road I was familiar with.
Somehow I had frustratingly ended up right where I started.
Baker Street.
I knew that if I kept at this I would never find my way, so I sluggishly walked towards 221b the flat my parents had lived in for around the past two and a half decades. I opened the black wooden door with the golden numbering I had grown found of. I trudged up the stairs. Each step was like having another weight of terrible guilt put on my back.
Another step.
I abandoned my parents
Another step.
They could be in danger right now.
Another step.
It had been three days.
Another step.
I am the worst person in the world.
Last step.
They could be ….
I couldn't think that word. I just collapsed on the sofa, my back to the room. My back to everything that mattered.
I cried.
I cried.
I cried harder then I have my enter life and I was sixteen. Some part of just stopped caring about my dignity.
More than the time I fell off a swing at the park. More than the time I broke my arm. More than the time I realized who my parents were.
I was a terrible person.
I think at one point Mrs. Hudson came up but I'm not to sure. I remember someone patting my back and telling me it was going to be okay. She asked me if I wanted anything to eat. I don't think I replied.
I fell asleep.
A/N: Well this is chapter three. I really do hope you enjoyed it.
on another note, Sherlock is almost over! o.O