part 1 John Watson

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"Eyes on the floor, John." I thought as I kept my head down. Sherlock paced the floor, and it was driving me mad. 1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8 back 1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8 turn. I felt as if I were back at basic training, marching.

"John!" Sherlock stopped pacing. "You. Are. Not. Paying. Attention!" The child-like quality Sherlock held came out in a pitiful whine.

How can I pay attention when I don't want you to notice? I lifted my gaze, "Yes Sherlock, what do you need me to pay attention to?" My face betrayed me at that moment.

Sherlock dropped to my eye level, causing him to have to crouch down, deducting. My mind drifted to the victim, who, unexpectedly, was my cousin.

"The victim," Sherlock deduced, "you knew the victim, yet you're relieved?" Sherlock's confusion came in waves.

Relief, yes, Sonata was at composition camp. "Yes, I'm relieved, and I knew the victim." Then my voice raised, and practically screamed at Sherlock, "That. Was. My. Bloody. Cousin!" How would he have known that? I asked myself.

Sherlock fell backwards and blinked several times. "The relief John, why are you relieved?"

"Sonata, my cousin's daughter was at a music camp" I then got up to fix tea. My hands shook as I poured it. There my mind regressed to twelve years ago.

Twelve years prior

I walked along the inner city London roads to get to Clarissa's, I always enjoy my favorite cousin's company, and I need it before I head out to the battlefield. A small sob echoed out of the ally on my right.

"Sonata G-Major, Sonata E-Minor with a waltz interlude..." Sob, "Sonata F-Flat Major..." I could tell it was the voice of a small child, yet named of pieces of music that I had no idea who had written them. I walked towards the voice, and found a small girl. Approximately five years old, with dark curly hair and doleful eyes. Through the shadows I saw the bloodied hands that she held towards her stomach. Bloody Hell! My mind screamed. I went to Uni for this, Time to prepare for the Battlefield, John.

The girl squeaked, and said "You can't take me back," she visibly shivered "They'll hurt me, they dislike my straightforward mental capabilities!" What girl her age speaks like that? I wondered.

"No, I won't take you back." I promised the small child. She then glanced at me scanning for a lie. She nodded and pulled herself up by rocking forward. "Let me take you somewhere safe and fix you up." I then placed my hand on her back and lead the girl to Clarissa's.

"Bloody hell, John!" Clarissa said when we got the girl into proper lighting. The girl's hands were fractured in many places, and shattered in others. Even though I, being trained to help people with these types of injuries, and was ready for deportment, was shocked by her condition. I tended the wounds, formed splints, and worked with her hands for approximately three hours.

During this process I discovered several things about the girl.
-She was a pianist
-She was an orphan
-An orphanage worker by the name of Miss Nelson was the one that repeatedly broke her hands
-The other children thought her to be odd
-She ran away

Soon after I finished my work, Clarissa fashioned her a bed, and we sent her off to sleep. We then decided not to take her to the hospital, in case a notification to the orphanage was issued.
"John?" Clarissa said, "I want to adopt the girl."

"Clarissa," I said looking at her situation, Clare was financially stable, but without a husband or father figure for the child. "We don't even know her name, or origin."

Clarissa gained a dreamy look on her face, "Sonata." She said, "That's what she was mumbling, right?"

"Yes, but-"

"That's what I'll call her." Clarissa beamed, "And when I adopt her, John, I want to make you her godfather."

I smiled, Sonata in an odd way is partially mine.

Back to present time....

"John," Sherlock looked worried, "John, John, JAWN!"

"Mm, Yes Sherlock?" I looked down, I was stuck mid-pour.

"John, what's a-matter?" Sherlock put his hand on mine and set the kettle back down again.

"Sonata's coming." I spoke my realization aloud. Sonata's mine now. "Sherlock, text Greg and tell him to bring Clarissa's daughter here."

Sherlock fumbled with his phone, then came to realization, "Who? Wait! HERE??" Sherlock about dropped his phone, mid-text with Lestrade.

"She's my goddaughter, you two will get along famously." I then thought about the similarites between Sherlock and Sonata. Lanky, dark curly hair, musicians, geniuses, and bright eyed. Wait! When did I start to compare the physical qualities of the two??

"Very well." Sherlock's eyes darted around, almost as if he lost something. He finished his text and looked at me.

"Sherlock, this won't last long, Sonata turns 18 within a month." My breath was even, but my eyes relayed the sadness I felt. A month: That's what I was giving up with Sherlock. Will we be the same?

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