Here I am. Back with a new story. Now, the story is not that progressed so far, so I warn you beforehand updates might take a little longer. Just so you know.

Disclaimer: I own nothing so far. Sherlock Holmes belongs to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, this Sherlock we're dealing with here to the BBC. The title of the story is taken from The Pussycat Dolls Song Halo, the title of the prologue from Green Day's Wake me up when September ends. I'm not making any profit using any of this, so don't sue me.

Prologue: The innocent can never last

"Out of suffering have emerged the strongest souls; the most massive characters are seared with scars." Khalil Gibran

Clammy. That was the only adjective Jim could think of to describe the atmosphere that reigned in 221 C Baker Street. No wonder nobody wanted to live here: it smelled of mould, death and decay. Jim found it very fitting for what he felt inside as he opened the plastic bag that he was carrying and brought out a pair of shoes; after all, he had gotten them from a pool, a place just as clammy and mould infected as this one. Leaving them here would complete the circle in a very nice way. He knelt down, not minding the dirt that would stain his jeans; it was where he came from, and, although he generally covered it up, since it was nobody's business but his, he wasn't afraid to face the dirt, face his past. It was what had made him, created him, turned him into the man he was now.

Almost tenderly, Jim ran his fingers over the trainers, twirling the white laces between them. His biggest triumph. People always said that the first murder was the hardest, the first cut the deepest. Jim had to respectfully disagree. If his first murder had been the most difficult, it had only been so because of the time and effort it had taken, not because of regrets or so. He had never regretted killing him. Him. It had been rewarding. Gone were the pain filled days, over were the tear filled nights. But none of it was ever forgotten. Till today, Jim shuddered sometimes at the memories of his past when they came haunting him at night, and yes, he always felt a twinge of pain whenever he uttered his tormentor's name. Carl Powers. Even now, he felt it, as he turned to the door and left the shoes behind. They had been in his possession for twenty years now; it felt weird, giving them up now, parting with the only physical trophy he had ever kept. But it was necessary. Necessary for his plan to make Sherlock notice him. He felt empty, somehow. Although he had enough to remind him of this time; scars, foremost. And of course the image of Carl Powers drowning in the pool, the best swimmer of the school, dying in the water. And that image would never fate. He only had to close his eyes to see it, so real that he could smell the chlorine. He shook his head. Time to leave, Jim. But as he wrapped his hand around the doorknob, he suddenly started to tremble. He turned, watching the shoes again. Suddenly, in the clammy air of this room, the memories came crushing down on him again, so powerful that for a second he felt his knees give in. He let them. He let the memories invade his brain without pushing them away. They would come back anyways, and, now was as good a time as any other.

Jim Moriarty used to be a happy child. Loved by his parents, happy in the city that meant the world to him, in the country he felt so deeply attached to. He was innocent, back then. But the innocent can never last. Not when they are put through hell. And then through some more. Because Carl Powers wasn't the only one putting James Moriarty through hell.

Some people are born only to suffer.

So yeah, it's going to be a rather sad and brutal story. There's a few things I'm not entirely sure about so far, as in, should I bring in Sebastian (and his sister), sort of using the childhood plot I scraped in All you gotta do is cross the line? I'd be happy to hear your opinions on it. And, please, I don't wanna whine, but remember how much your comments mean to all the writers posting their stories here. So, join the review revolution and leave them comments.