John, Sherlock and The Girl he kidnapped

Prologue from Hannah's POV

I was late for science that morning. I was too tired to get up. Couldn't sleep.
I'd made it to the right corridor. But Morgan's gang were there.

"Ha, look who it is! Late again." Morgan said as he swaggered towards me.
I kept my head down.
"Didn't your dad go to prison? Didn't he beat you up?."
That got a laugh.

I turned away. My face was burning, my legs began to shake.
"Don't walk away from me!" His cackle was muffled as I started to run.
"Freak!" The final blow pierced my vale of adrenaline, a poison dart to my head. I rushed past a tall figure, as colour drained from the corridor.

I stumbled through the toilets, slamming a cubicle door shut. Trembling, I collapsed, forcing my palms into contact with the icey tiles. My ankles touched the cool porcelain of the toilet sending a jolr through each nerve. I noticed my heaving chest. I laid my head against the door and drunk in gasps of disinfectant and nail polish. Tears irritated the corners of my mouth.

Gradually, the laughing grew fainter, followed by the footsteps. Crinkling a tissue, I wiped my face and unlocked the door. I hoped the only trace of my defeat was the salty taste on my tongue but my puffy eyelids stung with each blink.

I shuffled into the silent hallway looking at the ground, when a pair of black Brogues blocked my path. My eyes climbed the man they belonged to, stopping at collar height.
I noted that he was wearing a long coat from the blurred outlines of my vision. I knew he wasn't a teacher. But who was he? And why was this stranger waiting for me? Deafening silence encased us. My palms began to stick to my fingers. I stood there wondering if I was about to be this murderers next victim.

I chanced a peak at his face. The first feature I noticed was a set of knife edged cheek bones. After this his eyes mesmerised me. Initially, they appeared to be one tone of pale blue. However they soon spiralled to reveal swirls of emerald and a wash of copper surrounding the pupil. In fact, traces of the whole spectrum were present in the universe of his eyes. It was as if he has stolen his iris from a Van Gogh painting. All of this was then encased in a striking blue ring.

My thudding heart dragged me back to reality with cruel ruthlessness, branding a blush deep into my cheeks. The man began to move.
"I...," a deep voice vibrated. The rolling softness swirled through the air like honey.
"Are you...I know you're not okay." He stated, finally decisive.
I said nothing, too cautious to fall for a trick. Does he understand? Really? Does he actually care? Or is he tricking me?
Skimming over my body, I felt his eyes- well I felt him.....calculating me. His almond pools of colour turned outwards, just slightly, and met my own. They seemed to burrow into the deepest caverns of my mixed up soul. For some reason I wanted to blurt out all of my thoughts at once, tell him every name I've ever been called. I looked from the bouncy curls hiding his forehead to his pale crescent lips. My strength crumbled.

Two steady hands held my upper arms. I felt warm breath on my cheek as he stoopped to support me. His alarmed eyes were centimetres from mine.Vision turning to static, my head collapsed in on itself.