Undertow

He woke up shrouded in a cloak of grey and if it weren't for the gritty feel of sand against his outstretched palms he would think he was floating.

There was a struggle for breath and the notice of a sharp tang in the air that burnt his nostrils as he embraced consciousness with a panicked gasp and his body jerked forward, allowing him a perfectly clear view of the ocean in front of him. He froze, listening to the quiet rush of the waves as they hungrily lapped at the shore.

His mind began racing, an ongoing symphony of why's and how's because this was certainly not the car he last remembered getting into and if his memory was correct they still had the better part of an hour before they were even in the near vicinity of the shore or his mother's home.

Although the better part of him yearned for some sort of explanation he felt a strange calm wash over him as he brought himself to his feet and stumbled slightly. He ran a hand through his tangled curls, shaking the sand from them and squinting against the bright, grey sunlight that managed to stream through a gap in the clouds.

Eyes skimmed over the water as he became almost hypnotized by the rhythmic motion until something bobbing on the surface a few yards out caught his eye and he scrubbed at his face, trying to assure himself he wasn't seeing things.

There was a girl, up to her shoulders in the cold ocean water and she was watching him with such intensity it nearly sent a shiver down his spine. His initial thought was that she had fallen victim to the current and instinct propelled him forward as he called out to her and waved his hands above his head like a madman.

"Are you alright?" he called out to her as loudly as he could, voice drowned out by the waters roar.

The girl didn't even blink as he continued screaming and making his way to the edge, moisture soaking through the toes of his shoes as they squished in the damp sand.

"Hold on, I'll come get you!"

He took a few more steps until he was ankle deep and the icy water burnt his skin as it drenched the hem of his pants but adrenaline was making it hard to care. He looked back up to pinpoint the girl, find out exactly where he needed to go to get to her, but as his eyes skimmed the water that had now suddenly calmed he found that he couldn't see her.

He stopped.

Fear washed over him like a cold shower as he continued his frantic search for her, screaming and blinking against the mist of salty water that was little by little making it harder to see. He was suppressing tremors as goose bumps rose on his skin and his teeth chattered but he refused to give up until he found the girl again.

She would not die because of him.

He thrashed through the water and drew in deep breaths in between dives, desperately trying to catch even a glimpse of her pale skin or dark hair beneath the waves but each time he came up empty handed and his muscles began screaming in protest until he could barely keep himself up any longer.

He ended up on his knees in the shallow end of the murky water, panting and soaked and close to tears he couldn't seem to hold back and as he dragged himself back to the shore, the sand sticking to his slick skin; he collapsed and muttered silent and heartbroken apologies that were carried away with the wind.

Sherlock jerked sharply awake with a choked gasp, feeling the cool sweat that had collected at the nape of his neck and along his forehead. He blinked a few times and let his vision clear, swallowing hard to contain his obvious distress as he assured himself it was just a dream in an attempt to calm the erratic beating of his heart as it pounded against his ribs.

He was back in the car, trundling slowly along a dirt road that was heading uphill and bypassing rows of evergreens and tall weeds. His lolled against the seat and he sighed, digging his nails into his palm and squeezing his eyes shut. He didn't open them until the cheery voice of his driver broke through the wall he was attempting to put up and he cracked one lid slightly open to look at him.

"We're here Mr. Holmes."

His childhood home was lavish and extreme, the best his father's money could buy at the time. It was nestled comfortably at the top of a hill with a gorgeous view of the shore towards the north end and one of the pine forest that lies just toward the east.

He spent many days of his adolescence hidden within the trees, finding his fascination with dead animals was much easier to hide under the cover of the greenery as opposed to out in the spacious front yard his mother always scolded him for leaving.

It had been some time since he'd actually been back here, well into his third year at university he found he never had much time to spare a visit and if he were being honest there wasn't much here for him to return to.

A strained family relationship made calling and visiting hard on everyone and after his stint in rehab just last year his father had all but cut off his ties to his son out of shame. Needless to say there wasn't much left waiting for him and he found it easier on everyone if he stayed away.

The plan had worked well to until news of his father's passing had reached him via his brother, Mycroft, whose robotic voice and lack of emotion had allowed the anger to fester in Sherlock's gut as he met the news with nothing but silence and shock.

That was almost two days ago and now, in a matter of moments he would be meeting with his brother and Mummy face to face and he was almost embarrassed to say he feared a reaction. Of course, by now he had no choice and he drew in a deep breath for courage as he threw the car's door open and embraced the cool spring air as it collided with him and scattered his curls across his forehead.

Sherlock barely had the chance to move before he heard a cool voice and turned to see Mycroft leaning casually against the car with an expression he couldn't read.

"Brother," he greeted gently, knowing this was no time for one of their spats.

Mycroft shifted slightly and tightened his grip on the umbrella in his hand but kept his face straight.

"Sherlock. I do wish these were better circumstances, but it is nevertheless good to see you looking so… healthy."

He felt himself bristle but he held his tongue as he saw an older woman with a tear stained and exhausted face making her way across the yard and he settled for glaring at his brother as coldly as he could muster and moved toward her with open arms.

"Mummy," he murmured as she melted in his embrace, fresh sobs escaping her lips.

Her dark hair was greying and there were a great deal of wrinkles between her brow and around her lips but she was still the same woman he remembered and it broke his heart to see her grieve. She took a moment to compose herself before she lifted her face from his coat and cupped one of his cheeks with a soft hand.

"Oh, it's so good to see you, love."

Her thumb gently smoothed over his skin as he smiled at her and they shared a look of sad misunderstanding before she turned and put one arm around him and the other around Mycroft, leading them toward the house without another word.

As they crossed the yard, Sherlock let his gaze flick across to the shore and the lapping waves and he suppressed the shiver threatening to run down his spine before he was finally able to look away.

He fidgeted in his suit and tugged at his tie until Mummy swatted his hand away and he settled in his seat with a huff. Mycroft was speaking on their behalf before she was due to deliver her own eulogy and Sherlock could not for the life of him sit still.

He had a restless night after his arrival that consisted of tossing and turning in his bed until he could no longer stand it and he shrugged on his dressing gown and walked down the hall to his father's study. The door was closed but left unlocked and his hand had curled around the brass knob, lingering for longer than he liked to admit before he finally pushed the door open and let a fresh wave of melancholy wash over him.

His father, for the most part, was a very organized man and everything in his study had a place. No one was really allowed in, or at least they weren't when Sherlock was a boy. There was the fear that children, who were always so curious and eager, would disrupt the order he had set and it bore the strict rule that no one was allowed inside with him.

Of course now the rule was purely moot and he had allowed himself inside, drawing his fingers across the smooth finish of the desk and across the spines of what was probably hundreds of books before he settled in the plush chair behind the desk with a dreary sigh.

There wasn't much on the surface other than a few scattered papers and his reading glasses; an old fountain pen and half smoked cigar resting on the edge of an even older ashtray, but nothing that really caught his eye.

His fingers had been itching to open the array of drawers, there metal handles glinting in the faint light of the lap on the edge of the desk. While it partly felt wrong to snoop there was still so much about his father he felt he didn't know that mainly sprouted from his leaving for university after the strong desire to distance himself from the man who never seemed to understand him.

Against the little voice in the back of his head he had jerked the first one open, peering inside with curiosity that melted into one of surprise as his hand plunged inside and plucked a photograph off the top of a pile of papers and folders.

It was a picture of him, sitting on his father's lap with a large book in his hands. His father was smiling and patting him on the back and judging by the look on his own face and the furrow of his dark brow he had been reading out loud.

Sherlock stared at the photograph for a few moments, collapsing against the back of the chair with… surprise? Ever since he was about twelve his relationship with his father had changed and they found themselves at each other's throats with every opportunity, leaving little hope in the youngest Holmes mind for the same pride he knew was found in Mycroft.

Still, finding the photograph had struck something in him and he found himself unwilling to let it go, the edges crinkling from the perspiration coming from his skin and he had eventually fallen asleep with it clutched tight in his grasp, warmed by the glow of the lamp and the new feeling bubbling in his gut.

Mummy had found him just a few hours later, rousing him with a gentle hand through his curls and the announcement that he needed to get ready before the funeral began. He was waiting for her to be upset about his entrance into the study but once she had caught sight of the picture in his hand her eyes had momentarily watered and she planted a feather-soft kiss on his temple before hurrying out the door.

Now they were all seated outside, the air barely warm enough to warrant the service being held there, and he was finding it harder to concentrate. His mind was betraying him, years of learning to push emotion and feeling to the deepest and darkest room of his mind palace suddenly crashing down as he listened to Mycroft speak and Mummy weep as she clutched his hand.

His chest was physically aching with loss and guilt at the thought of the last argument he shared with his father, pale and bruised with track marks scarring the inside of his arms and screaming words he didn't really mean but could never take back. He felt ready to scream, right leg bouncing uncontrollably as he dug his nails through his suit trousers and bit down on his lip until he tasted blood.

And then he couldn't take it any longer.

He shot to his feet just as Mycroft's speech came to an end and there were gasps from the crowd as his mother scolded him and begged for him to come back as he tore across the yard and towards the other side of the house, the wet grass slick beneath his dress shoes.

Sherlock didn't stop even after he had managed to distance himself from everyone and he could no longer hear Mummy cry and Mycroft yell and when he finally allowed himself to open his eyes and breath he found himself on the shore, staring hopelessly out towards the grey waters.

He fought to catch his breath and felt the hot sting of tears in his eyes but he gruffly wiped them away and looked toward the sky, as if he were unaware a sudden rain had begun to fall. He was angry with himself and his father, angry that they had fought so much and angry with himself for being so stupid.

Nothing could change the last words they had spoken to each other nor could anything change the way they fought tooth and nail to make each other see their ways but he still couldn't shake the constricting guilt from tightening in his chest.

When he'd finally calmed down enough and blinked away the remainder of his tears he eased himself down onto the sand and ran a hand through his hair, tugging sharply at the ends. The tangy scent of salt was awakening a sense of déjà vu in him as bits and pieces of his dream came back.

He hadn't really thought about it since he arrived, there were more pressing matters that had sought his attention then but now there wasn't much to occupy him and keep him from picturing the girl's face or remember the icy feel of the water against his skin.

He roughly shook his head and drew out a long, loud sigh before flopping onto his back and folding his hands over his stomach in defeat with comical force. He was just closing his eyes as a soft, tinkling laughter drifted across on the breeze and they shot open once more.

Quickly he sat up, looking down the stretch of beach in each direction but seeing nothing but a few sea birds circling overhead. He huffed angrily; almost sure his mind was now deciding to play tricks on him on top of the breakdown he'd just encountered. He was ready to flop back down and wait for someone to drag him back to the house when something a few yards out caught his eye and he was absolutely sure he was seeing things now.

It was the same girl from his dream, pale shoulders once again barely visible above the water and this time her doe brown eyes widened when she saw him looking at her. She lowered herself farther into the water, nearly up to her chin in the icy waves as if she was hiding from him.

Sherlock shot to his feet but he didn't move right away, he took the time to actually observe her and noticed she wasn't fighting or struggling against the current. In fact, she looked completely at ease and he actually gawked at her.

She giggled at him again and he felt his lips curl into a smile at the sound.

It quickly wiped away though when his subconscious so kindly reminded him that there was still a girl out there, a girl he had dreamed of just the day before and he wondered why the thought didn't strike him as completely crazy a few moments earlier.

To his left there was a bed of large rocks that led out to the water just a few feet to the girl's right, appearing as if they were tossed carelessly into a pile by some sort of giant and he felt himself moving towards them, keeping one eye on her in case she disappeared like before.

The stones were slick and covered with a fine layer of salt and misted ocean water, dangerous even as some of them possessed sharp edges and if he were to tumble the end result would not be pretty. Still he found himself mounting the one nearest to him with extreme caution, reaching out in case he needed to catch himself.

He teetered and gingerly maneuvered his way to the end of the assortment until he reached the last rock, lowering himself onto his knees and finding himself nearly face to face with the girl, who looked barely old enough to be on her own.

She was cowering from him but she didn't flee or attempt to swim away, she bobbed effortlessly in the waves as if she didn't even have to try and keep herself afloat and Sherlock found his curiosity was piqued to a remarkable level.

Without thinking he had reached out a hand toward her in hopes she would let him bring her to shore but she just looked at it, biting her lip in thought.

He reached out just a bit more but the leg of his trousers caught on something and he jerked forward, hands scraping against the rock as a stinging pain erupted through him and he felt himself falling and then everything seemed to fade as his body came into contact with the frigid water.

A/N: Whaaaat? Yeah, this came out of nowhere and attacked me and I just sorta rolled with it. This chapter mostly just sets the stage but I thought the mini cliffhanger was a nice touch too. This is my first attempt at anything fairy tale like so comments are appreciated and some things in future chapters you'll probably recognize and some things are what I've thrown in

Either way I don't own anything.