Hunter (Sherlock Fanfiction)

Chapter 2: Tea?

TW: Mention of drugs

"John meet Y/n y/l/n, Y/n meet Doctor John Watson." 

"Nice to meet you John." I said, holding out my hand, I was still tied to the chair with ropes. He took it, shaking it very firmly. 

"Well, seeing as Y/n will be staying with us for a while, I suggest we all get comfortable." Sherlock sighed. He stood up and went into the kitchen, leaving me and John alone. He pointed at the ropes.

"What's this about?" He asked.

"Oh, I tried to murder your friend and failed, so as a safety precaution he tied me to the chair. Could you untie me?" I stated sarcastically.

"But you tried to-"

"Untie her John, we can trust her." came a loud shout from the kitchen. Glancing at me cautiously, John walked towards me and untied me. I let out a yawn and stretched my legs and arms.

"Thank you." 

"What were you doing trying to murder him in the first place?"

"She works for a spy organisation. The organisation wants me hunted down and killed, so they sent her after me. After coming in very clumsily through the back window she tried to punch me but failed miserably, then we had a little talk about her past and how her employer is lying to her about her whole life. Tea anyone?" Sherlock said, walking through the door with a three teacups and a teapot on a tray. 

"Yes please." Me and John said in unison. Sherlock poured three cups of tea and gave them to each of us, I was about to take a sip when I realized something. 

"What do you mean I was lied to?" I asked. Sherlock looked at me confused.

"You said they lied to me about my past, what do you mean?" 

"Y/n, do you remember anything about your life before becoming an assassin." He asked me. I tried to think back to before my training had started, but all I could think of were blurry memories that made no sense. Just blurry memories with blurry people. 

"No. Well I can remember fragments but not clearly. It's like a blurry film with crackling audio."

Sherlock took a deep breath and sunk into his armchair, closing his eyes. John watched him think with curiosity. I glanced around the room, feeling awkward in the heavy silence.

Finally, Sherlock spoke again.

"A drug that can mess with memories, causing them to become unclear or even wiping them completely and replacing them with new ones. Y/n you have been lied to your entire life, those memories that you can remember are most likely fake, and even if they are real then they would have been messed with." 

I swallowed a lump in my throat trying not to cry again. The fuzzy memories had been the only thing that gave me a clue to what my life might have been like before the Curators. They had been my only glimpse of normal life over the years, and now I was being told that the memories were fake. Or if they weren't fake, they would have been messed with and changed. 

"How many others are there?" John asked. 

"Fifty, maybe sixty. All female." I replied. 

"And they would have all gone through the same drug treatment, it allowed them to be controlled and manipulated easily. They wouldn't question anything as there was nothing to question. How brilliant." Sherlock muttered under his breath. John turned his head to look at Sherlock, a look of disbelief on his face. 

"Sherlock, she's been lied to her whole life, she's been drugged, and you seem to think it's brilliant? That she and other girls were manipulated into becoming murderers?" 

Sherlock opened his eyes and looked at me, checking for any sign that he had upset me.

"She seems perfectly fine to me." He remarked. John sighed and gave up trying to reason with him and gave me a look that said 'sorry'. I smiled weakly at him, trying to thank him. In reality, I didn't care a lot, the Curators had trained me not to let my emotions get the better of me, but a part of me was still hurt by the fact Sherlock thought that this was all just a game. 

"I'll help you take them down."  I said.

"Really?" 

"On one condition, you help me find the truth about my life."

Sherlock nodded, so it was agreed. I would help Sherlock, or rather he would help me take down the Curators. And in return, he would help me find out my past.

I felt a bit selfish that I had chosen to help Sherlock so easily, but the anger that I felt from being lied to had gotten the better of me. Besides, if I chose to help Sherlock, there was a slight probability that if we did manage to take them down, I would be able to live a normal life afterwards. Or as close to a normal life that an assassin could have. 

At that moment, an old lady opened the door with shopping bags in both her hands. Sherlock stood up and rushed to take them from her.

"Allow me, Mrs Hudson. Do have a cup of tea." 

"Sherlock, why is your face bleeding?" She asked. Sherlock quickly rushed into the next room to put the groceries away to avoid questions. 

She looked at me.

"Well, who is this beautiful lady here?" 

I blushed at this sentence, not used to being complimented by strangers.

"Mrs Hudson, this is y/n. She's my client for our latest case and she'll be needing a place to stay, preferably here but if you can arrange with Mrs Turner next door to see if she has a spare room that would be wonderful." Sherlock announced. 

"Well it's your lucky day y/n, the flat above has been empty for the past year and I'm in desperate need of a female companion." She leant into my ear and whispered "It gets tiring having to deal with John and Sherlock sometimes, they bicker like an old married couple."

Having overheard us, John turned away, his face flushed red with embarrassment. Mrs Hudson giggled before leading me upstairs into the top floor of 221B.  

*****

Sitting on my bed, I looked out of the window where snow was gently starting to fall. The lights of cars came past every once in a while like little fireflies in the night, after a while the snow had settled, creating a crispy white carpet on the street below.  

I continued to sit on my bed, watching the London night life continue for a few hours before I decided that it was a good idea to sleep. For the first time that I could remember, I was sleeping in a comfortable room with an actual bed and mattress. The duvet smelt homey and the frame of the bed like old wood, probably mahogany or oak. Comforting... the smell was comforting.

My eyes started to become heavy as the soft sound of violin muffled by the door and walls filled the room. With thoughts of what had happened during the day floating in and out of my head, I slowly fell asleep. 

1178 words

A/N: Two chapters in one day with no writers block, wow that's a surprise. No one has really read this yet but I've got two votes! At the moment it kind of feels like I'm talking to myself but oh well, hopefully someone will write a comment one day lol. Again, I haven't had time to proofread so if there are grammar errors just tell me in the comments. Also what do we think of the first-person POV?