Hey everyone!

Now, I'm finally back.

This is now my second story and I hope you will like it.

You'll read my version of the story of Mycroft Holmes' daughter Sharon, whose name I have taken from Mike Maurus' and Ulrich Bader's young adult's book series. All her character features and the personal environment she's located into is all mine. And of course the great script in which my story is based belongs to Mark Gatiss and Steven Moffat of the BBC Sherlock series.

I had taken me a long time to come up with a decent script for that story and I am still not finished yet. So if you, my dear readers, have any suggestions and want to contribute to this story, please feel free to do it!

I am always happy to read what you're thinking!

Please enjoy reading the first chapter and please review! Give me some important feedback to work on!

With love, Olivia

YOU AWAIT ME

FEBRUARY

I was relieved as I softly knocked with my knuckles onto my desk to applaud the Professor as he sent us off into our well-earned weekend, so I stuffed all my books into my leather bag and stood up. Finally.

I was actually getting bored to hell.

Every day, every single second I spent here, I fought myself not quitting that ridiculous business instantly. In fact, an academic title doesn't count anything anymore nowadays and the elite of society is just a bunch of snobbish, materialistic, cocky and treacherous criminals.

Weren't those Professors here obliged to teach their students something new, something useful to make them increase their knowledge? That those hard working students would therefore being someday bestowed with an academic title that would grant them membership to the elite of society?

Pardon me, but I already knew that people weren't supposed to get their hands dirty by tricking our law system by having dirty dealings with the criminal vermin that lurked in the underground! If dirty deals were everything our ministry had to cope with...

In fact, no one really knew what was going on behind the scenes, no one really did, not even those people involved.

I let myself jostle and shove around in chattering crowd and finally managed to leave the stuffy lecture hall. As if it were stuffy, don't get me wrong, but how the hell had all those deadheads ever begun to spin in some of those lectures? Every kindergarten-child could attend them and it would make no difference in their 'effectiveness'. I bet one day even the Professor will fall asleep himself.

The real life looked so much different and there was no time to think of paragraphs, precedents and the vintage case law.

I mean, would you stand there, a robber pointing his gun at you, his finger trembling on the trigger, a mere second away from pulling it and blowing your head off, and tell him for God's sake not to do it because he will 'regret' this? His punishment, if our grand police was ever able to catch the criminal, perhaps consisted of being on remand and condemned for armed robbery, would be as dead sure as a tsunami rolling over Europe. Sure, it would be very threatening if you tell a robber that people would lodge an action against him if he killed you.

I've never known a victim, being dead and buried, actually accusing his murderer. Well, perhaps except from him using a death horn, but that would take it for granted that he'd been buried alive.

So what the heck did we expect would save us from evil?

Right is just a pipe dream. Laws are just idle talk. Rules are just stale jokes.

That's all I've learned in my years at University. How sad it was that I knew that even all those poor enthusiastic colleagues of mine would have to realize that someday as well. But they were all still awfully filled with good faith and I nevertheless didn't want to be the one destroying their prospects and hopes.

They all strove for the final realization of the 'right and good' and longed for being the ones who would bring stability and evenness to the scales of justice. But one of those scale pans got heavier and heavier every day and it wasn't the one which would grant us all eternal piece.

I know, I may sound a little like a pessimistic nihilist, but I just got to know the neutral and matter-of-fact perspective, which obviously seemed to be the one showing us reality, not even truth, but just what everyone had to face if the worst came to the worst.

I took the steps down to the entrance hall, left the University and to no surprise, a car (I do not ever bother to call that thing limousine) was already waiting for me to pick me up and get me home safely, even if the way was just a little one. But safely, don't make me laugh! I would rather have taken just the bus to get home like every other student-girl and no one would have recognised me being a daughter of obviously someone being very rich and very important.

But God save me, all those members of my elite University were offspring's of very rich and very important families, so maybe it would have been odd not getting picked up by your own private chauffeur.

And if all those things didn't get on my nerves already, I hated being picked up by that strange woman who worked for my dad and destined it to her personal challenge to babysit me, as if she had to cherish me like life itself.

My weekend, or whatsoever, couldn't start worse by that woman being the first familiar face around me outside the University.

I hated her and didn't even know her real name, although she did a really good work for my father. But once she told me to call her Anthea, but I knew that was just one out of her average-working-name repertoire. That's why I sometimes just simply called her Miss X.

I knew she would never tell me who she was, because the only one she could somehow confide in and give away information to was her principal, my father. She was just brownnosing him all the time. But I was sure if someone other would just bribe her decently she would give away all information she had about my father and my whole family just within a mere blink of an eye. Well, that looks like going home, doesn't it?

My family wasn't that big anyway. It constituted of my father, Mycroft Holmes and my modest self, Sharon. Most of the household had members of employees and bodyguards. Mother was killed a long time ago. Father didn't even mourn her anymore and I even somehow was happy about that. Now being twenty one, I didn't want to mourn a mother any longer whom I haven't ever really got to know, because that would make me even more sad and I would lament her loss forever. I guess my father wouldn't have become such a glutton for work if my mum still were there, holding up that sense of togetherness that usually belonged to a family.

But still, I could not deny that I missed my mother very much.

"Hurry up, Miss Holmes!"

Anthea opened the back door for me and shooed me into the limousine. I took a seat and put my bag onto my lap, grabbing it hard and looked out of the window to watch all those ancient walls of the University pass by. I would bless the final day that I would spend inside them and was thankful that that day was getting closer and closer already.

I've never considered myself being that smart, but it must be some gene in our family, that we were quite skilled in all processes of thought. I was no mastermind like my other relatives, but I was quick in acquiring and memorising information. That's why it would take me just four years to finish all the different kinds of my studies and I was even close to be one of the most successful students ever receiving a doctor's degree at such a young age. But to be totally honest, what the hell should I've been doing otherwise in that life that I used to live? With no fun, no friends, nothing worth living except science. studying and as I was doomed to, politics. Not the official kind of politics though, thanks to my blessed father.

Miss X was just sitting next to me, typing hastily into her smartphone, buried into whatever she had to do. Perhaps she just messaged my dad that she successfully picked me up. Her company was so unnerving.

Although I've been looking forward to finally leave the University-jailhouse after that long day of studying, I would just enter the next one. Home wasn't even home. Home was where I could be for myself and just my thoughts. And that was definitely not where this woman always tracked me to.

I sighed heavily and Anthea didn't even blink an eye at my point trying to catch her attention. Well, perhaps I somehow did it in vain anyway, as she never spoke about something really important or concerning my life with me. If she spoke to me at all, respectively.

"Will father be home for dinner as well?", I asked, while I didn't even bother to look at her.

"No."

"Where is he?"

"I don't know."

Which was, by the way, her fancy synonym for 'I can't tell you'.

"Is he at Diogenes?"

"Maybe."

I finally looked at her in a most annoyed way, but she only had eyes for that blinking display. Those weren't surprisingly short answers given by her. Even still too short for her kind of woman. Or was she just pulling out the one role she played when she dealt with everything my father ordered her to? Well, I definitely preferred that quiet, controlled and taciturn assistant much more than a talkative nag, anyway. She'd already managed to make me never ever in hell caring about her and her private life at all.

"Did my dear father bother to leave a message for me? I wasn't able to see, call and even message him for five days already.", I said and somehow had to resist that strong urge to snatch that damn phone out of her long, perfectly manicured fingers.

"Mr. Holmes is very busy lately."

"Oh please, get more creative with your prefabricated weasel-words."

She gave the phone an amused smirk.

"There's important business with Mr. Sherlock Holmes."

"Sherlock?", I asked and felt my pulse rise. Somehow I was on pins and needles now. It was surprising that Anthea told me with whom my father was having business with. Did it contain some hidden message or something? Or maybe she knew how intensively it would get me to think about what the hell my father and Sherlock could have some business about, which would keep me quiet for the time we needed to head back home.

Well, if she intended to do so, her plan worked out.

Father being involved with his younger brother never meant something good.

I've never liked Sherlock a lot. But that was only natural of you considered his behaviour towards me, towards any human being. If even that could be called behaviour.

I know I should not prejudge him that badly, or at least not simply label him as abnormal freak, but he'd set it out to be on my list of 'people-without-whom-I-could-lead-nice-life-jus-as-much, thank-you'.

It's not like I really wanted to cross him out of my life, but I just cared for him as much about as I did for Miss X.

I've just met Sherlock a few times in my life, but those meetings had been enough for being totally repelled and rejected from him. I could have admired him, for sure. He was a mastermind, one of the best examples for being blessed with the outstanding power of deduction, but also with a great deal of penetrant heartlessness.

I would have tried to sympathise with him if he hadn't ignored me thoroughly.

I would have even called him my uncle if he didn't keep pretending to not knowing my name, not knowing who I was. He loved to completely deny my existence, it seemed. He once even accused my father of having an affair with a girl less half his age as he'd seen me and my father having dinner at a noble restaurant.

I was so hurt by him. He'd never been interested in Mycroft's affairs after all those bad things that happened between them and therefore he was not interested in my father's life, in which I naturally played one of the most important parts. That's what a daughter at least should do.

But even that didn't seem to be like one would anticipate.

I guess my father was lucky that he had so much money that enabled him to send me off to something boring whenever he wanted to. Give the girl some money and that will compensate for all what I've been lacking to give her at all in her whole life.

Whatever it meant to have a caring father or to have a happy family, I didn't know that at all.

I even did not ever have much friends. My father always preferred to rise up an invisible wall around me that would shield me from everything evil in this world. The bad thing was that it did work in shielding me from everything.

Friends? If you mean those people you are attending school with, or colleagues that you meet at University, the most boring places of the world and have a boring small-talk about your boring lives? Yeah, I got lots of them.

But about those, whom you meet in the afternoon for a drink, a nice chat, who take you out to short trips at weekends, who go out and party with you until dawn, who hold back your hair of you urgently have to empty your stomach, whom you tell every single secret that is buried within your heart, whom you can really confide in?

Total negative report.

I've never had lots of them, nor had I experienced such intense friendships. My best friend would have been my diary, if I had one of course.

I was quite a maverick, but I think even with all those precautions of my dad, I wouldn't have changed that situation if I were able to do it. I think my education and upbringing contributed to my decision anyway. I chose my friends carefully and I'm afraid I chose them too carefully.

The truth was, that way I may never have been able to find real good friends at all.

Getting friends was just a mess.

I mean, even Robinson Crusoe was able to make a very good friend even on his lonely isle, so why the heck wasn't I able to have at least a single one? Maybe I should really start worshipping some crocodiles or go on exile were no one would understand my talking.

Suddenly a very unfamiliar noise let me almost bolt from my seat. My god, I heard my smartphone ring so rarely, that it almost gave me the creeps to hear that harsh ringtone. I really had to change it to a softer one.

Hey! Thanks a lot for the scripts! Saved my life! XXX Sally

I huffed and put my phone aside. That was the next way of how friendship was realized for me. People only contacted and called me if they needed me to do anything for them. Like helping them in any ways out of the dead ends regarding their studies that they usually and regularly found themselves trapped in.

I abominated their impertinent making convenience of myself, but I knew the only one to stop it could be me, which would on the other hand mean to break up every social contact that was remaining for me.

The screensaver of my smartphone made me think once more about my weird and somehow lonesome life. I'd chosen Echo and Narcissus by Waterhouse. I knew that must have been quite weird, but I always imagined myself being a total narcissistic person, who, out of fear but also ignorance and self-pride, rejected all people around herself. Only because I was afraid of doing something wrong and feared of only encountering people who wanted to take advantage of their acquaintance with me.

I guess someday the only company that would remain for me was my own mirror image.

Perhaps I would even reject those whom I loved and who loved me. And I knew that was true as I even scared away those colleagues at University who went after becoming my friends and whose number was alarmingly decreasing.

One exception was Sally who wrote me a message the tenth time that day. She was a very lively and sometimes quite hyperactive girl, very sensitive though, and letting her personal life, feelings and daily worried influence her studies very much. She was not able to blank things out and just focus on what she had to do. Sally was hardly paying attention in classes and lectures, as she always had something on her mind that unsettled her that much that you could call her a downright day-dreamer.

Sally Barnicot, excuse my language, really needed a good and well-aimed kick in the butt to make her wake up and go on with her life. She was a law's and politics' student, just as I was, but my schedule was far more filled than hers.

I also had studies in economics, science, history and sometimes even had some courses in psychology. My father wanted me to cover all important fields of studies that would contribute for my proper education to be able to get a good job like he did. My father always pretended to be no one really important, but he was actually the one holding up the British government. He always pretended to me that he just held a simple position where the ministry passed the basic findings of their negotiations to, on which he should give a professional opinion and recommend further actions. That seemed to be pretty important enough, but I knew my father had his fingers in several political affairs and was the most important man for the British government. Actually, as my beloved uncle Sherlock who used to say, that my father was the British government.

To serve my father's utters satisfaction, I had to come up to his expectations he held and had to accept every fancy task he used to give me annoyingly hard time with. I knew he even already had something upon his sleeve for my upcoming last year at University. He sometimes even suggested taking courses in Informatics, Statistics, Physics and even Mathematics.

I must still have looked quite deep in thought as Miss Anthea shook me to get out of the car as we'd finally arrived at Pall Mall.

Now as I entered the house, those walls that didn't even somehow accommodate warmth that welcomed me home, I was eager to reach the privacy of my room as quickly as possible.

I was in no mood for anything fancy, because I somehow felt that I had to prepare for what was still laying ahead. Something which would definitely go beyond any effort like that which I had to raise up to ram innumerable pieces of information into my head.

I knew that something about my miserable life had to change.

No matter, who or what would changed it, it definitely had to happen.

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