Thanks for the positive feedback! I love that other people are liking this as much as me! I'm sorry I haven't posted in forever, I've been SUPER busy! And my laptop broke so I had to wait for repairs.
To explain things:
Soulmarks/Soulmates: To me, it would make sense that everyone has some magic in them, but only witches and wizards can access them. Like with muggleborns. So, it would make sense that everyone has the potential to have one. Though, not everyone has one. The ratio for those with soulmarks to those without is roughly 1/10,000,000, and not everyone meets their soulmate. A sad reality, but it just makes sense. Some people could just not have the means to meet their soulmate, or might even die beforehand.
Timeline: A Study In Pink happened from October (first suicide) to January-February-ish of the next year. There were a few cases between, nothing of much notice. After Harri goes off for 5th year, The Blind Banker starts. That way The Great Game and A Scandal in Belgravia can happen in sequential order.
Horcruxes: I'm gonna slowly introduce what exactly happened in the story from 4th year (my way). It may or may not involve the Royal Princess, a pensieve, and some magic experiments.
Pairing B: Irene and Sirius aren't soulmates. Yeah, yeah, I know this is a soulmate AU, but it's 1/10,000,000. AND Irene wouldn't be her manipulative, seducing self if she did have one (that would be a shame; I like her that way. You do too, admit it). Sirius was a player in Hogwarts, he had no strings attached just like her. I'm still working out how they'd meet, so load me up on some ideas if you've got them.
Dursley's: Because Harry is a girl, I believe she would be much more sensitive to the abuse that the Dursley's had made her suffer through (and we all know Harry didn't even realize he was being abused). Petunia had seen her loathsome sister Lily in Harriet, so it carried over more hatred from her jealousy towards her younger "perfect" sister. Vernon would already hate her abnormality, and Dudley would pick up on it, but not as much. That would give her some sympathy and understanding toward him.
Hermione: So, yeah. I really do love her, she's a kickass witch. One of my favorites. But, because Harry is a girl, she'd understand how important education would be. And cause a thirst for knowledge. This would lead to her trying her best in each class. Hermione honestly only has her book smarts until 5th or 6th year, so she doesn't have much else to go on. Take away her top ranking, she only has her second place best friend (cause Ron was the first, real friend) and second place as Brightest Witch of Her Generation. I'm still iffy on when she'll reconcile. She still has her pride and can be stubborn.
I'm sorry if it seemed a little fast in the first chapter, I had to keep going back and forth every time I got a new idea, deleting and adding some details and lost track of time. And the age difference will keep a lot of the usual things a normal soulmate AU would have from happening. Sherlock would never act on anything with a current minor. Also, I'm sorry if the deductions are a little amateur-ish, my mind is nowhere near as magnificent as Sherlock, Mycroft, or Jim's.
Consider me as average as John. Without the medical degree, because I am a simpleton.
Enjoy!
000
Ginny was having an anxiety attack. Harri had just been held hostage by a muggle man, saved by the muggle police (Scottish Lard, was it?), and taken to a hospital that was certainly not magical. Her heart was pounding faster than a frightened unicorn herd, louder than a banshee. No, she wasn't over her hero worship/crush thing. The humble presence Harri gave off was soothing, especially living with her family. An overbearing mother, successful eldest brothers, jokester older brothers, and the adventurous other brother. Try anything, they've already done it. Twice.
With Harri, she felt the undivided attention she'd give to her precious books. The awe of being near someone who stood up to wretched monsters, a classic hero from any fairy tale. Her role model, her idol. To be powerful, but wise. Strong, but still vulnerable. She was the most loyal, accepting person Ginny had ever had the joy of meeting. That was proven in the Chamber of Secrets when Tom nearly killed her. Merlin, the older girl defeated a snake 30 meters long! And almost died saving her.
The true epitome of Gryffindor.
It sent her in a panic when the police swamped the station, the tall man taking her friend away to the muggle Healers. He scared her, looking just like Tom had. Dark, curled hair with those icily perceptive eyes that could see your every thought before you could even blink. He was smarter, better, than those around him and he knew it. They were so alike, it made her blood run colder than the winters the Durmstrang students had gone through. Her lungs seized up as if a bludger had hit her square in the chest. She was losing her friend all over again.
The memory of her holding the paling Harri still haunted her nightmares. As an eleven year old first year, Ginny had never witnessed death. Never seen the light leave the eyes of another, never holding a corpse's head in her lap. Her hand had held onto the older girl's so tightly, as though she could anchor her to her mortal shell. Ginny didn't want Harri to die, she hadn't even lived yet! She could be great, do amazing things. She was already a good person, she could do so much right in this wrong world. The pulse in Harri's arm had slowed as she took each wheezing breath, the poisonous venom must've been excruciating. Then a flame of red and gold appeared and Fawkes saved her with his tears. They flew out of there with Ron and Lockhart, not mentioning the whole story. Like how Ginny screamed for her not to die, how Harri had touched her cheek and said it would all be okay. Not to Ron, not to the Headmaster, no one.
The two had bonded even more over the next break, inviting Hermione too, only for her to decline. They'd shrugged and talked about the two worlds. The differences were amazing! How passionately Harri had spoken when describing music and art, democracy and republic, ancient and modern day. She loved to know things, like how the Oort Cloud surrounded the Solar System as a sphere or how it was illegal for a time to serve ice cream with cherry pie in Kansas (some place in the States). Her ambition to understand how things worked and linked and interlocked with other things was admirable, to know how to use it to help others was an even better aspect of Harri that Ginny discovered.
Hermione memorized things and spouted them word for word. That was just how she knew things, from that one point of view. It was biased to say that they were the definite facts when things like magic could easily turn it into a tea cup for the afternoon. Harri on the other hand comprehended why things were like this and asked how it was so. She knew how to talk to people with subtlty and tact, caring and empathetic. That was why she had felt that she could go to her for help, her memory gaps wouldn't go unappreciated.
This past year had been especially horrid. The Not-Mad-Eye Moody had entered the older girl into the Triwizard Tournament, forcing more ridicule onto her. It was very similar to Ginny's first year, the whole school against one short girl. Whispers followed in the halls, at mealtimes, and around classrooms. Everyone made her out to be a fame-seeking brat that was way in over her head. In all actuality, Harri had been the one most prepared for the competition, years of experience under her belt. The student body's opinion changed once again after the First Task when Ginny's friend faced a Hungarian-freakin'-Horntail. There was also the witnessed death of Cedric, and Fudge's cover up...
Harri had no help during the whole ordeal, facing death and spitting in his face. For the what-ith time now? Voldemort is back, and the girl was to be shipped off to her family in the muggle world. There was to be no contact with Harri. And the Ministry had decided that her trauma was of no need for a psychiatrist.
That had led to her freaking out when they got back home.
"No, no, no! We - we have to go get her! Mum, Harri was just-" she hyperventilated.
Molly Weasley held her daughter's shaking arms, "Ginny, calm down. We need to know what to do before we act, we can't just apparate in and steal her! The muggles would think she was kidnapped! Dumbledore will get in contact with the British Muggle Minister and smooth things over." Smoothing out the tear tracks in the girl's eyes she said, "Take Hedwig and Harriet's trunk up to your room, she'll be back before you know it."
Ginny took a deep breath before gathering the objects and carrying the Feather-Light Charmed trunk into a corner. Forcing herself to shove down the nausea before she got sick, she ran the tap before splashing water over her face. Ron rubbed her shoulders and hugged her from behind. While he had no manners and was oblivious to everything, he knew how to comfort. His best friend was nearly shot, nearly killed. Who knew how Harri felt right now.
Hermione was silently staring at the mantle, lost in thought. It was almost surreal, like she had been watching it all from a telly. In slow motion, she watched out of the corner of her eye as the collar of Harriet's shirt was snagged and a gun hit over her head. This wasn't like their other dangerous situations, this was a muggle infested area and outside of school. Witnesses, all surrounding the two like an audience. It felt like she was watching a play, bad guy has the damsel and the mysterious hero saves her before taking her off to their happily ever after.
Thing is, she didn't know that it was almost like that, had they not been Harriet Potter and Sherlock Holmes.
To admit to herself, Hermione would say that yes, she was jealous. In first year, she had no other friends and Harri had people tripping over their feet to know her. Studying and being the best student she could be was all Hermione had. Then Harriet Potter had decided to pick up the slack in second year and bye-bye her top student role. And it had seemed so like Harri to get even more publicity through the Tournament. It hadn't felt fair then, and Hermione knew she was a bitch about it for no reason than the petty resentment she felt in her heart.
"Well, how long-"
"- Will Professor Dumbledore take?"
Both twins had been terrified that ickle Harri had been violated like that (as they had been every end of the year since they met her). She was their acquaintance in public, and their secret partner in crime. Their supplier, it was surprising when they learned how cunning and mischievous she actually was. Ron knew of her help, but only what they wanted him to know. They never dared to tell Hermione, Merlin knows what she'd do to them all.
"I've sent an emergency note through the fire and your father is searching the Ministry for him if he turns out to not be in his office." said Mrs. Weasley.
"All we can do is wait, then?" Hermione asked quietly, though she knew the answer.
Mrs. Weasley gave a grim smile, "I'm afraid so dear."
"What about the Professor's? Can't they do anything?" Ginny asked desperately.
"Not without the Headmaster."
She had never felt so useless.
000
The door to the room swung open as Lestrade walked into the room quietly. He took note of the sleeping redhead, curled up to the edge of the bed. The room was dim, a radio playing jazz softly in the corner. Sherlock was sitting in an uncomfortable chair next to the bed, fingers intertwined and holding his chin. He was studying the content girl's face when he looked at Lestrade from the corner of his eye.
"Where'd she go?" Lestrade demanded quietly.
A puff of air left Sherlock's mouth, "Under the bed. A strange place, with strangers walking about , and no one she knew was around."
"And she knows you?" the DI asked rhetorically.
"Yes."
Lestrade sputtered in surprise, "How? If you kne-"
"Of course I didn't know!" the self-proclaimed sociopath hissed before checking on the slumbering redhead. Not knowing how to word it exactly (for once), he rolled up the sleeve of the fresh shirt.
Lestrade openly gaped in shock. The most manipulative, antisocial, narcissistic arsehole on the planet had a soulmark. And that meant...
"Need a blanket?" he smirked at the dawning expression. "It's not visible on her at the moment. I find it quite flattering that she would keep hers hidden to this extent."
"Extent?"
The blue eyes glittered with amusement before he turned them upwards, "Her clothes. Long sleeves, enough layers to not be seen if they ripped, and there had been a bandage taped over it before Molly took it off. Even subconsciously, she kept it protected from prying eyes. Her hair has been long for quite some time, thrown over her shoulder to create a veil. Her arm would roll, confirming that something was over the words. Located on the shoulder blade, the left to be exact."
The DI sighed as he too looked at the ceiling before sitting in a chair, "Damn..." He turned his head to the young man next to him, thinking.
Sherlock rolled his eyes, "I can practically hear you. What is it?"
Lestrade hesitated then asked, "You're not going to... you know..."
The look on Sherlock's face would be hilarious in any other situation. Eyes wider that the moon, it looked as if someone had told him his brother got him a Christmas letter. Too bad he didn't have a camera.
"Holy Bloody Fucking Hell, of course not! Why would you think I would?!" he finally burst out with incredulously.
"Well... you are-"
Dark curls bounced as Sherlock shook his head furiously, "No! I would never - defile her! Never would I even think to... to..."
Lestrade let out a relieved breath. Good, at least he knew Sherlock's intentions. He was too surprised, answered quick, the first thought that came to mind. He released another breath, this time of surrender. God, bastard's rubbing off on me.
Sherlock groaned in frustration on the topic. She's a minor, for God's sake! As if he'd do something so vulgar to Harri...
It just occurred to him that he had been referring to her as Harri, not Harriet or Miss Potter. He wasn't so sure if that was good or bad.
This was... out of his area. What was he supposed to do? It wasn't like any other soulmates, she was ten years his junior, a child. A physically, mentally, and emotionally scarred child that deserved as much support as possible. If that was what she needed, then that is exactly what he would provide. Sherlock had not previously known what his role as such to her entitled, until they exchanged their words. No, it was before then. When they first locked eyes, his resolve was made. To be her friend, protector, and, maybe one day, her lover. Sometimes soulmates didn't marry, and that was okay. Baby steps for now. He'd help heal her old wounds, he'd make her safe. He promised.
Don't make promises you can't keep.
Then I'll just have to make sure that I can, in fact, keep it.
Harri was already changing his point of view on things in life. Thing was, he had no idea how to respond to it.
000
John waited in Judge Morris' chambers as she read over the few documents. This case had been a floozy, a simple track and catch turned into child abuse of his (and yes, he admits it unlike a certain someone) best friend's bloody Soulmate. This made it personal, much more important. But he needed the warrant for the investigation by the Yard to keep going. The police could keep the Dursleys in custody for forty eight hours before letting them loose. That was all the time they had to open and shut this case before losing all grounds to hold them. And he was the apparent delivery boy for it.
"And Miss Potter has not had any medical files recorded since her birth?" Bertha Morris clarified.
"Yes. The police need this to gain access to the residence of her relative's home. We are sure there is evidence." He replied. The silent legally was implied that they would find it themselves if the warrant was not signed.
Morris tilted her eyes to look at John, "Mr. Watson, what is the significance of this case? I am not ignorant to the fact that Mr. Sherlock Holmes does not take a case if it doesn't have an interest. What is so intriguing about a child abuse and neglect to him?"
He cleared his throat to speak softly, "Miss Harri is uh... his Soulmate, Judge. He intends to right the wrong she was given. It is my personal belief that he wants to help her."
The judge's eyebrows shot up to her hairline. The genius detective had a soulmark, who would have guessed? "Well, this is something... I'll sign the warrant. But," she eyed him, "Where would she go once she is released? No matter the circumstances, she will not be going with the two of you."
John racked his brain for someone that could help take her in and still keep her close. There were few people Sherlock would entrust with his secrets, let alone his heart. "What about Martha Hudson? She is kind and has room in her home. Harriet will be cared for there, and not have the risk of being put into the system."
The judge blew a stream of air from her nose before looking intently at John's face. Whatever he guessed she'd been looking for had been found when she nodded her head. Her pen scribbled her signature before it was handed over, pulling back at the last moment, "One condition. Mrs. Hudson will be given an interview by myself. If I deem her sufficient and Child Protective Services can say for certain that her home is in livable condition, Miss Potter may reside in 221A. Miss Potter will have regular check ins at random intervals and is not permitted to be left alone at any time outside of the flats. Am I clear?"
"Yes, Judge Morris." John agreed with a firm expression. He was handed the form and quickly exited the chambers.
The dial tone sounded once after having clicked on Sherlock's number - now on speed dial - when his friend answered. "Did you get the warrant." That wasn't a question, but oh well.
"Yes."
"Good. Meet Lestrade at Number 4 Privet Drive. Take your laptop and webcam, Skype when you get there."
"Aye Aye Captain." The call ended on that note.
He raised his hand to the traffic, "Taxi!"
000
"Good. Meet Lestrade at Number 4 Privet Drive. Take your laptop and webcam, Skype when you get there."
"Aye Aye Captain." Sherlock hit the red button with a smirk. Lestrade had already left the hospital to investigate the house for evidence of abuse. The boy would go to his Aunt's and Harri...
They'd cross that bridge when they came to it.
The dreary daylight was being filtered by pastel curtains, air conditioning keeping the room at a comfortable temperature. The sterile smell was starting to burn his nostrils, but there was nowhere he'd rather be. Under his own accord, Sherlock lifted his hand and eased out the crease between two crimson brows. What he hadn't accounted for was the subtle shift of her face nuzzling his palm.
Sherlock studied her face, "Well aren't you just precious... Hmp!" With a chuckle, he smoothly retracted his hand. This girl would be his undoing.
Smoothing out his trousers, he stood and placed a cellphone on the nightstand. Food, preferably not the poison sold here, was in order. A local café perhaps.
000
"WHAT DO YOU MEAN SHE'S GONE?!"
"Technically, we just can't get to her-"
"MY GODDAUGHTER IS MISSING AND YOU'RE CALLING A TECHNICALITY? FIND HER DAMMIT!"
"Black! Calm-"
"DON'T TELL ME TO CALM DOWN SNIVELLUS! MY GODDAUGHTER WAS ASSAULTED AND NO ONE IS DOING ANYTHING!"
"Sirius my boy, sit-"
"I REFUSE TO SIT DOWN DUMBLEDORE! WHERE WERE ANY OF YOU? HARRI WAS JUST ABDUCTED AND WITNESSED ANOTHER STUDENT'S DEATH HARDLY TWO WEEKS AGO! WHY IN THE NAME OF MORGANA'S SAGGY TITS WOULD YOU SEND HER BACK TO PETUNIA, ALBUS?!"
This meeting was not going well for one Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. The Order was summoned under the urgent matter of Harriet Potter's disappearance earlier that day. She had been taken to a muggle hospital after being threatened by an armed man. Her relatives had been arrested by the muggle police. And everything was in shambles.
The wards would no longer work without them, and Harri had been put into a position where they've lost access to her. And everyone knows the incompetence of muggle doctors - they weren't as advanced as mediwitches or Healers. They lacked the proper tools and knowledge. Now Harriet was in danger because he'd been a right fool and forgone an escort.
Word had spread amongst Wizarding Britain, and soon all of the Magical Globe had caught wind. It was instantaneous that Sirius had called an emergency meeting once he got the message from Ron and the twins. The governments were in uproar, furious that their savior had been treated like such. Albus could imagine Rita Skeeter was scratching up the latest version of The Daily Prophet as they spoke.
Leveling a disappointed look at the raging man, Albus stood. "Sirius, we know where she is. We cannot get to her due to so many people already alert of her. The police is involved now, an ongoing investigation is commencing with Harriet in the very middle. Of what they are searching for, I am not sure. But one thing is certain, we will get her back."
Sirius clenched his fists in anger, gritting his teeth in an animalistic snarl.
"I wouldn't be so sure about that." A cold voice spoke from behind them.
The members whirled around with their wands pointed at the intruder. He was tall and elegant, a tailored suit adorning his body. He held an umbrella and the iciest expression Albus has ever seen upon a human face.
"And why, kind sir, would you think that?" Interrogation in the guise of curiosity was always Albus' specialty.
A stony smirk crossed the man's lips, "Do not delude yourself Headmaster. I am not kind, nor do I think. I know you won't be getting her back anytime soon."
"How." The resident Bat of Hogwarts drawled as he inched forward.
"The same way I know little brothers don't like sharing."
000
With a shiver crawling up her spine, she ran. Dodging this way and that. Quicker and quicker. Breathing harder and harder. A stagger here and there. It was freezing and muddy, the wet dirt caking her bare feet. She couldn't see much in the fog, but she knew he was there. Hiding - no, lurking in the shadows and biding his time. The rushing of blood pounded in her ears as she whipped around another hedge. He was coming.
This was hell.
So cold now. It was hard to move, let alone run. But if she didn't, she was done for. Faster, faster. Hurry up, he'll get you! The wind whispered cruelly to her, biting into her skin and making her eyes water. Her fingertips were numb and blue, her teeth chattering against each other. No matter where she went, it all looked the same. Which turn to take? How long to go straight? Is he waiting just around the bend?
"Harriet... darling girl! Where are you going?"
Something caught her foot.
"You can't run from me, my dear."
With a loud shriek she fell onto the cold fleshy form. A lift of her head showed vacant brown eyes widened by fear, a gaping mouth open in a yell.
"Kill the spare."
She screamed.
...
Bolting up, Harri scooted back with her legs to get away from the dead corpse. A dull ache was registered, scooting back had caused her to hit her head on the bed.
... Bed?
The aseptic scent finally hit her nose. Clean and odorless, but still there like a damp veil had settled over the room. Harri breathed and found that the air stung her lungs, chilled from the air conditioner. Her hospital gown had embarrassingly bunched up around her thighs in her panic, bringing a flush to her cheeks. After patting down the thin garment (and her messy hair while she's at it), Harri looked to her arm and found the clip taped to her index finger and an IV dripping the clear fluid into her veins.
Eyes closed, she breathed. In. Hold. Out. Repeat.
It was a routine Harri found herself doing whenever in a tight situation. It gave her a moment to gather her wits, think rationally, and calm her stallion of a heart. Like with the Mirror of Erised or in the Chamber... the Shrieking Shack... the Dragon... and Merpeople... and the Maze... Graveya-
Buzz. Buzz. Buzzzzzzzzz.
The bedside table shook with the small cellphone, set on vibrate. Biting her lip, Harri internally contemplated. It wasn't hers, but it could also be important. Pick it up. Let it ring out. Eenie meenie minie mo. Hmmmm.
Her hand hesitantly reached out and picked it up. It was smart phone, she didn't really know what kind. Harri didn't particularly care much for what she wasn't ever going to get, a habit instilled since she was little. Her thumb swiped the green icon to the side and she slowly held it up to her ear, "...Hello?"
"Good afternoon Miss Harriet. I hope my calling hadn't woken you from your rest?"
The cool, calm, and collected baritone voice rolled over her like the cool velvet of her first dress. The feeling of finally, finally having something she had admired quietly from the sidelines, of knowing it was hers and not even the Minister himself could take it away. It was as quenching as a glass of water in the middle of the Sahara and had Harri smiling despite her hands becoming clammy.
"Oh, no. I'd just gotten up and - um, yeah." Yep. Totally not awkward. Nailed it.
A smooth chuckle made her smile and curl around the pillow to her right. "Glad to know you're settled in alright. Say, are you hungry?"
"No! I mean, you don't -" Harri's stomach decided to interrupt with it's own input, sounding very much like a provoked grizzly bear.
"I believe that would be a yes. Are you a fan of takeout?"
"I've never tried." Gooseflesh crawled up her arms, her response made anxiety ram its ugly head in the bottom of her gut. As silly as it felt, she was worried he would find her abnormal compared to others. For once in her life, Harri wants more than anything to at least appear like any other girl in London.
"Well," The door to her room opened, "It's about time we find out, hm?"
The whole affair was surprisingly not awkward at all, save for her of course. Socializing had never been Harri's strong suit, and it made her flustered. Especially with her Soulmate in the same room. That word would never grow old to her. Ever. She also found that she liked the savory Chinese food, fresh citrus and vegetables tasted in every bite. Exchanges were made, learning small tidbits about one another. She soaked it all in, wanting to ingrain every particle of information about her partner. The action was noticeably reciprocated.
She stared at the box that held her rice. In. Hold. Out. "... Why'd you leave your phone here?"
Sherlock paused in his chewing, tilting his head at her. "I wanted to leave you a way to contact me should you have needed it. As we did not find a cellphone of your own, assuming you had one in the first place, I feel that if you are to be left on your lonesome then you deserve a form of communication."
"How do you do that?" Yes, Harriet. Ask the vaguest question possible. She risked a glance up then immediately slammed her eyes downward at his stare.
"Do what?"
"Like... know things that aren't obvious. Finding out so much about someone with the smallest look. I... don't understand." Harri gnawed on her lip, hoping she didn't sound discourteous or vacuous.
A paled finger, slightly calloused with show of work lifted her chin from its tucked position. Sherlock's smile was sweet as the caramel ice cream one Florean Fortescue always offered her when she stayed at Diagon Alley. And just like the ice cream, she melted at the sight. "It is not that I know, more that I see. A person is laid out in what they wear, how they stand, and what they say. If you look carefully, as you had done before with Mr. Bagstan earlier this morning."
"So people... not like you are only scraping the surface? Like, hitting the tip of the iceberg and not figuring out what's underneath until they dig under? And unlike them, you notice that the ice goes deeper and dive down."
"Quite like that. A wonderful analogy, if I do say so myself." He smirked in accomplishment at making her bashful, though he knew she appreciated the compliment. She deserved it, after all.
"... What happened to my relatives?"
"They are currently being held by the Yard, questioned and detained under the charges of child neglect and abuse. There's an ongoing investigation into the matter." Sherlock looked her in the eyes, face set in stone. "They will not harm you."
Harri gave one of her most grateful smiles that she has only gifted a few, "Thank you, Sherlock Holmes."
Their fingertips barely touched, the barest of brushes. "Anything, Miss Harriet Potter."
This would work for now.
000
Sherlock excused himself from the room in favor of John texting him they were ready to go in. It was evening then, and he logged into his laptop. There were horrors that came with neglect and abuse, ugly pieces found behind closed doors. The most normal of people living their normal lives aren't so polite behind the curtain. He'd come across terrors like this, children chained like animals and starved. But this, this one call made him queasy and clammy. What were the living conditions? Was she given a room, or forced to sleep in some shed out back? It was obvious she'd been given bare necessities, but how basic?
John's face popped up on the screen, "Alright, lets get this over with."
"Agreed. Have forensics already been collected?" Sherlock asked with his usual skepticism.
"Yes. Lestrade cleared out the place for us. Shall we?" The screen was turned to see the brown front door and white picket fence. All houses were exact replicas, an endless array of copies. How Harri hadn't lost her mind already was a wonder for the ages.
The door was opened with John's gloved hand, and they were bombarded with beige. It was everywhere. The walls, the counters, the couch, even the curtains. It was so neutral, not a gram of originality to be seen. Everything was neat and tidy, not a speck of dust to be seen. To the left was a stair case, forward the kitchen, and right was a bland recreation room.
Overly clean, keeps up appearance of the family next door. Rugs regularly removed, furnature regularly arranged, and basebords regularly wiped down. The mother's obsession with neighborhood gossip; blinds bent away from each other and wine stains on the sill. Kitchen sized down to accommodate children: Harri cooked since she was young enough to understand, approximately age of five by her intellectual capacity. A housewife, without need for work by the state of her nails.
"Go up the stairs, master bedroom."
The father provides for all needs, his high position giving way to indulge his family. Luxurious living and electronics, abundance of sweets, shopping allowances by the amount of unopened bags by the entrance. His obsession is to appear more important than he is. The closet is full of suits and dress attire. Formal at all times for all occasions, because he is above them all. A trophy wife, the perfect home, the best car, and a perfect son.
"Check the boy's room."
Now the son, is not so perfect. Messy slob by the amount of trash and laundry laying about. Occasional smoker, not quite addicted but getting there. Spoiled beyond belief, coddled by his mother and praised by his father. Their star child is no more a bully beating children for lunch money, which is hidden in the bottom desk drawer. More money to feed his friend's addictions, giving him a higher rank. Bullies anyone and everyone. Even his cousin...
"Now the last room." Sherlock clenched his fists at the chipped wood around the edge. Who the hell put thirteen locks on a child's door?
Bare; small twin bed (thin mattress), end table, lamp, and wardrobe. Hardly lived in, only the past few years. Untouched since last summer if the sheen of dust thick enough. No personal items. Then where are they? She goes to a boarding school in Scotland, has friends; why wouldn't she have gifts and memos of them? She doesn't trust the relatives and wouldn't be careless to leave such things lying around. Unless - they were all in her trunk at the station. And her trunk is now with her ginger friend.
"John?" He asked.
"Yes, anything?" The blond man turned the webcam to face himself.
"Where did Harri sleep before?"
"What do you mean? This is her room; the only other one."
Sherlock shook his head, "No, no. It's barely been lived in, she probably got the upgrade when she first went to her current school. This place would be smaller, dull and unforgiving. Out of the way. Somewhere off to the side, where the aunt could quickly usher her in the instance of company. They didn't care for her comfort John, only that she wouldn't gain confidence in life. Where is that?"
The steps leading down the stairs stopped as John paused. Then - "Oh God." He breathed before flying down. "Sherlock-" He halted in front of the cupboard. Under the fucking stairs. "Do you honestly think-"
"Open it."
The doorknob was shinier than any normal broom closet's should be. There were no other knobs that were polished, and it had been used often. It slid smoothly with a soft 'click' and John hesitated before wrenching it open. And by God, was he upset.
The space was small, half the size of Harri's current mattress. A low, slanted ceiling covered in cobwebs with a single incandescent bulb hanging naked with a thread to pull. Shelved lined the back wall, the damp smell of mold assaulted John's nose. And on the floor was a thin crib mattress, matted down and covered in several blankets to pack in cushion. And on the wall, in childish emerald green Crayola, "hARri'S rOom."
"... Have processed this?"
"No."
"... Call Lestrade back in."
"Y-yeah."
000
It was a while after the Skype investigation that Sherlock asked the question everyone had skirted around, "Why didn't you tell anyone?"
Red hair hung over her face in the shame that was not hers, "It's not that I didn't, but that no one believed me."
"Who?!" If someone had known, oh if they'd known...!
"Uh- My old primary teachers. Aunt Petunia just waved it off, and Uncle Vernon said that I was sick with delusions. The school tossed out the accusation and they never called the house when I told again." She could feel tears burn her eyes at the memory of being helpless, to know that nobody would save her. That she was unwanted, and forgotten. "I cried all the time. But-but not too loud. Uncle Vernon hadn't liked it when I was loud. He didn't like it when I spoke."
"Were police ever involved? Investigations, follow-ups, any word?"
"No. No one really cared to see. The neighbors thought I was the problem child in the household. That I was trouble because Aunt Petunia would spread nasty things." She said.
Oh, the injustice this girl has had. Ignored and unloved, it made Sherlock's black heart throb and tug in ways he thought were impossible. His own childhood, while overshadowed by Mycroft, had been pleasant. He had no friends, but never really wanted them. He couldn't connect with them, and that was fine. His parents loved him and he was raised well with anything he ever requested at his disposal. He lived the way he wanted. But Harri, she didn't even get a first chance. She was given shit hands in the game of life, and her life was so short already. Why her? He never liked it when children were the victims, but this was so much worse.
000
"Where did your scar come from? The odd shape is most intriguing and looks to be only just healed."
Her hand brushed against it. "Car accident when I was young. It killed my parents."
"I think not." Sherlock furrowed his brows. "The tissue would have healed long ago, and the scar would not be as prominent." She looked to be about to interrupt, but he was on a roll, "On that note, your arm is also scarred from a vertical laceration on your right arm. Not by yourself, no, you're right handed. Also on your right arm, another scar on the juncture. Too large to be a needle, possibly a fang though I have never seen one of such scale. You live in the most disgustingly ordinary neighborhood in all of the UK, which leads me to wonder: What sort of school do you attend?"
They had gotten much more comfortable with each other over the few days she'd been at Saint Bart's. Her relatives had plead guilty on a plea bargain for the possibility of parole, and Dudley Dursely would go to live with his Aunt Marge Dursely. The judge had interviewed Mrs. Hudson and deemed her caring nature acceptable for Harri. 221a-c were quickly cleaned of any and all traces of human remains and acidic chemicals in time for the searches of the apartment building. Save for the leaky pipe, they were golden. And Harri had adjusted quite well.
"A boarding school. You know this."
"Yes, but you never gave the name. Nowhere is it listed, and my curiosity is singeing my brain from the inside out."
"It's not possible for your frontal cortex to spontaneously combust due to curiosity, Sherlock."
"Ah, true. Nice change of topic, but I'm not that easy."
"Neither am I."
"..."
"..."
The door opened, interrupting their stare off. John pointed behind him, "You have a visitor."
"Who?" Both had asked in unison.
A tall man, dressed in a tailored suit and leather shoes entered, "Me. Hello Sherlock." He twirled his umbrella mockingly.
000
Feedback? How was it? I hope I improved... I'll try to update soon! (Probably not gonna happen though...) But serious, thanks for your support.