Sherlock fic - Ten Cold Winters
This is the first piece I've written about, well, anything in ages, so I might be a litle rusty ^__^;
It's the backstory of the homelesss girl that we see in The Great Game.
**
It wasn't always like this, she thought to herself. It wasn't always sleeping under bridges and depending on loose change dropped on the floor to survive. She got up from the cold, hard floor that she'd been sitting on, begging for change. No, she thought, once upon a time she had been a normal girl with a normal-ish family. She began to wander down the street, nowhere in particular in mind for her destination, and in no particular hurry to get there.
She remembered fondly moments from her childhood. Like, on her 5th birthday when her dad came home from work with a puppy trotting behind him on a bright red leather lead. She had squealed with delight and didn't know who to hug first. That puppy had been her best friend for a number of years, going everywhere with her and the family. She had called it Patch because the little blond puppy had a black patch over his left eye, which she found to be the most adorable thing in the world.
Or, her first kiss, with Matthew Hepworth around the back of the science block at school. He had been 15 and she was 14. It was a sunny day in March, and they were on their lunch break, sitting on the grass near the pond they had for biology. They had been good friends for a while, her and Matt, and as they sat and fed their sandwiches to the fish, his hand nudged hers. They had looked at each other, and he had said “It'd be like a really shit film if I kissed you now, wouldn't it?” she had blushed and nodded. He had paused, and after a moments' thought he added “Can I kiss you anyway?” She had blushed deeper and nodded again. It lasted for about five seconds, and afterwards they had just sat in silence, smiling at each other.
She pulled her jacket around her tighter as a cold wind blew down the street on which she was shuffling. She remembered the winter evening when her little sister had come to her asking if they could braid each others' hair. She had said that they could do one better - they could build a fort together, then she would braid her little sister's hair and paint her fingernails, now how did that sound? Her little sister had
hugged her and said she was the bestest big sister anyone could have ever asked for.
She felt an ache in her chest and a frown crept across her face. Remembering the good times always led her to remember the bad times, the times that culminated in never seeing her family, Matt or her dog ever again.
It had all happened so quickly, out of nowhere it seemed. She ducked into an alleyway, out of the wind, as thinking about how she ended up like this always left her feeling cold anyway, never mind the help from the biting wind.
It was a horrible argument - probably the worst one she was ever likely to have with anyone. She remembered the day precisely - Feebruary 19th. It had been snowing outside - winter was a long one that year. She and her mother had been locked in an argument for what seemed like forever, both of them were in tears, and they had both said some fairly unforgivable things to each other. All of a sudden, her mother had screamed for her to get out of the house and never come back, so she did. She ran out of the house and continued running until the freezing winter air made her lungs ache and she felt sick. She slumped against a wall and cried. Eventually, she got used to the
cold and fell asleep leant against the wall, her coat pulled tight around her.
For six weeks, she stayed on the streets of London, doing what she could to gain what little food she could. She tried turning tricks, but she fell in with a bad crowd and her pimp beat her so badly she thought he'd broken several ribs and fractured her skull. Fortunately, she got out alive, but vowed never to trick again.
At the end of the twelfth week, she swallowed her pride and her hatred for her mother and summoned up the courage to go home. Surely, her family missed her and would welcome her back? She couldn't wait to see her sister and her dad again, and to take Patch running around the field on Sundays like she used to.
It took her an hour and twenty minutes until she eventually got home. But when she got there, a fresh wave of grief hit her - her house was empty, a for sale sign hanging above the door. She collapsed onto the floor, her legs literally giving way beneath her. She howled in grief and agony, heartbroken that her family had completely abandoned her and left her alone. After a short while, she managed to get up and survey her house. She peered in through the living room window to see that all the furniture was gone, the carpet slightly less faded where it had been. Fresh tears rolled down her face and she sobbed against the window.
She slept under a tree in the back garden that evening, unable to leave her house completely just yet. When the sun rose, so did she, a cold ache in her bones. She left her garden for one last time, taking a good look at the house that she had grown up in, then wandered slowly down the street.
That had been ten years ago. She was almost thirty now. She had known ten birthdays on the streets, being ignored by passers-by, and ten birthdays that she wished with everything she had that she could have spent with her family.
She thought she saw them, from time to time. She thought she had seen her little sister, about four years ago, coming out of a Waitrose. Her sister had been with a tall, dark haired gentleman - if it was her at all - and she liked to pretend that the gentleman was her sister's new husband, or fiancé, and he was buying ingredients to cook a meal for their anniversary. They were laughing and walking hand in hand, so they were clearly happy, and she was happy for them.
She thought she had seen her parents, too, not eight weeks ago. She had been near Bank and they were heading into the tube station, but it was so brief that she couldn't be sure. She almost called out for them, but she thought better of it at the last minute.
Fresh tears were rolling down her face now, and she wiped them away with the heel of her hand and heaved herself up and shuffled off into the night.
**
It's the backstory of the homelesss girl that we see in The Great Game.
**
It wasn't always like this, she thought to herself. It wasn't always sleeping under bridges and depending on loose change dropped on the floor to survive. She got up from the cold, hard floor that she'd been sitting on, begging for change. No, she thought, once upon a time she had been a normal girl with a normal-ish family. She began to wander down the street, nowhere in particular in mind for her destination, and in no particular hurry to get there.
She remembered fondly moments from her childhood. Like, on her 5th birthday when her dad came home from work with a puppy trotting behind him on a bright red leather lead. She had squealed with delight and didn't know who to hug first. That puppy had been her best friend for a number of years, going everywhere with her and the family. She had called it Patch because the little blond puppy had a black patch over his left eye, which she found to be the most adorable thing in the world.
Or, her first kiss, with Matthew Hepworth around the back of the science block at school. He had been 15 and she was 14. It was a sunny day in March, and they were on their lunch break, sitting on the grass near the pond they had for biology. They had been good friends for a while, her and Matt, and as they sat and fed their sandwiches to the fish, his hand nudged hers. They had looked at each other, and he had said “It'd be like a really shit film if I kissed you now, wouldn't it?” she had blushed and nodded. He had paused, and after a moments' thought he added “Can I kiss you anyway?” She had blushed deeper and nodded again. It lasted for about five seconds, and afterwards they had just sat in silence, smiling at each other.
She pulled her jacket around her tighter as a cold wind blew down the street on which she was shuffling. She remembered the winter evening when her little sister had come to her asking if they could braid each others' hair. She had said that they could do one better - they could build a fort together, then she would braid her little sister's hair and paint her fingernails, now how did that sound? Her little sister had
hugged her and said she was the bestest big sister anyone could have ever asked for.
She felt an ache in her chest and a frown crept across her face. Remembering the good times always led her to remember the bad times, the times that culminated in never seeing her family, Matt or her dog ever again.
It had all happened so quickly, out of nowhere it seemed. She ducked into an alleyway, out of the wind, as thinking about how she ended up like this always left her feeling cold anyway, never mind the help from the biting wind.
It was a horrible argument - probably the worst one she was ever likely to have with anyone. She remembered the day precisely - Feebruary 19th. It had been snowing outside - winter was a long one that year. She and her mother had been locked in an argument for what seemed like forever, both of them were in tears, and they had both said some fairly unforgivable things to each other. All of a sudden, her mother had screamed for her to get out of the house and never come back, so she did. She ran out of the house and continued running until the freezing winter air made her lungs ache and she felt sick. She slumped against a wall and cried. Eventually, she got used to the
cold and fell asleep leant against the wall, her coat pulled tight around her.
For six weeks, she stayed on the streets of London, doing what she could to gain what little food she could. She tried turning tricks, but she fell in with a bad crowd and her pimp beat her so badly she thought he'd broken several ribs and fractured her skull. Fortunately, she got out alive, but vowed never to trick again.
At the end of the twelfth week, she swallowed her pride and her hatred for her mother and summoned up the courage to go home. Surely, her family missed her and would welcome her back? She couldn't wait to see her sister and her dad again, and to take Patch running around the field on Sundays like she used to.
It took her an hour and twenty minutes until she eventually got home. But when she got there, a fresh wave of grief hit her - her house was empty, a for sale sign hanging above the door. She collapsed onto the floor, her legs literally giving way beneath her. She howled in grief and agony, heartbroken that her family had completely abandoned her and left her alone. After a short while, she managed to get up and survey her house. She peered in through the living room window to see that all the furniture was gone, the carpet slightly less faded where it had been. Fresh tears rolled down her face and she sobbed against the window.
She slept under a tree in the back garden that evening, unable to leave her house completely just yet. When the sun rose, so did she, a cold ache in her bones. She left her garden for one last time, taking a good look at the house that she had grown up in, then wandered slowly down the street.
That had been ten years ago. She was almost thirty now. She had known ten birthdays on the streets, being ignored by passers-by, and ten birthdays that she wished with everything she had that she could have spent with her family.
She thought she saw them, from time to time. She thought she had seen her little sister, about four years ago, coming out of a Waitrose. Her sister had been with a tall, dark haired gentleman - if it was her at all - and she liked to pretend that the gentleman was her sister's new husband, or fiancé, and he was buying ingredients to cook a meal for their anniversary. They were laughing and walking hand in hand, so they were clearly happy, and she was happy for them.
She thought she had seen her parents, too, not eight weeks ago. She had been near Bank and they were heading into the tube station, but it was so brief that she couldn't be sure. She almost called out for them, but she thought better of it at the last minute.
Fresh tears were rolling down her face now, and she wiped them away with the heel of her hand and heaved herself up and shuffled off into the night.
**