Lost (Sherlock)

Prologue

A/N this story is written by user britishotakugamer and ColonelWayne. All characters, except Scarlett, are owned by BBC and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.

There are some things that are meant to be left alone, unanswered. It's best not to look too deep into it all and just leave it be. The questions are so much easier when they stay as just questions instead of a resolution.

That's what she'd concluded after the events she'd been put through.

The girl picked at the clamps around her ankles, her dark hair falling across her face as she kept her gaze down. There were so many children around her age there and they probably had been here longer than she had.

The truck jerked to the right suddenly and she was flung against one of the older boys. He helped her back against the wall of the truck and nodded to her when she mouthed a thank you.

Most of the children here were different from where she'd been taken. There had been multiple times she'd been transported to different locations, saying that this would be the last time and that she'd get to go home if she behaved.

It was never true. She realized that after the third move.

She didn't have the slightest clue as to what they were being used for anyway. At the beginning, she thought it was a hostage situation, but after seeing a few Missing Person flyers around town with one of her friends' faces on it five months later, she realized that wasn't it.

The truck screeched to a halt and the doors opened.

A man pulled at her arm, tugging her onto the concrete. Her barefeet hit against it a lot harder than she'd planned, sending a shock up her leg.

"How old is this one?" the man asked, turning to his partner.

"Nine, I believe," the other man answered, looking at a few papers in his arms. "She's been here...three years and is the daughter of--"

"I just asked for her age, Hunter." She was pulled forward, the man straightened her back so that she was standing straighter. "This one will do. The others can be brought to the warehouse. Toss them all there and report back to me."

She looked over her shoulder as she was brought into the building beside the truck. None of the children had looked up from their position, not showing any sign of knowing what was happening.

It was quiet in the small building and it was so hot. At least she was able to walk, despite the extreme pain coming from her swelling ankle.

"This the one?" a woman asked after she was brought into a fairly small room. There was a door on either side of her, but they were both closed. "Jim will be right out. Just set her there."

The man pulled the girl to a chair and plopped her onto it. He rushed out of the office as if fleeing for his life.

She sat there in silence for a while before the door to her right opened up. A man dressed extremely clean and handsomely walked inside. His cool, blue eyes landed on her and he broke out into a bright smile.

"Ah! This is perfect," he beamed, walking over to her and bending down in front of her. "What's her name?"

"Don't know," the woman answered calmly at the desk.

"What's your name?" he asked, looking straight into the younger girl's eyes. She couldn't remember. It'd been so long since anyone had so much as looked at her. "Don't know either, huh? Well." He stood up and fixed his tie. "We'll have to find you one then."

"She doesn't need one for her purpose."

"Shush," the man said over his shoulder. "It'll make things easier." He looked back down at the girl and rubbed his chin as if he had a beard. "Scarlett. That's what I'll call you."

The woman chuckled behind him and he scowled, but reached out his hand to the girl again.

"Hello, Scarlett. I'm Jim Moriarty."