Autophobia

Chapter 1: The Meeting

Sometimes your best isn't good enough. Sometimes, no matter how hard you try, everything falls apart.

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I had always been a loner. Who would want to hang out with a freak, right?

It wasn't my fault I had no friends. I did try, but it never worked out. My appearance prevented me from making any type of relationship.

I have a rare mutation called albinism. I'm one of the more severe cases, giving me red eyes, a white complexion, and white hair. It was something I was born with. I hated it.

Most days were spent reading and studying. I didn't really need to study of course. Having photographic memory did have its perks. Having no friends, however, limited my hobbies. I got over it quickly, though. Why waste my time on people who only care for appearance?

My parents were naturally concerned because of this. I paid it no mind. I was structurally sound. I did not need people. Not socializing did not limit my talents. I was what people called a prodigy. Of course, after my parents died I was called a trouble maker.

From the time I was 9 I lived in an orphanage. I jumped around a lot. Orphanage to orphanage. Foster home to foster home. My looks, intelligence, and attitude made sure people didn't want to keep me around for long.

It wasn't hard to figure out what made people tick. For most people it was family, others were secretes. Find it and you controlled that person. It was one of the first ways I learned to make money from. Everyone wanted blackmail on others. It was a good business.

Acting was another way I made money. Strange isn't it? I didn't actually act though. Someone needed a kid to get close to their rival? I did it. Needed a kid who could play another child? I was it. Need a witness so you could walk free? People usually paid me. It was also a good tool to con people out of their money.

By the time I was 14 Scotland Yard had a warrant out for my arrest. It wasn't until I was 21 did they finally catch me. This was also around the time I met Sherlock Holmes.

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It was stupid of me really. I knew the the exchange was a trap. A little ploy that the Scotland Yard had tried to pull before. But I was getting bored. I wanted to feel something. Whether it was fear, anger, or excitement. My usual haunts weren't enough to satisfy me anymore. Going to the ambush seemed like a rational decision. Well, at the time of course.

That's how I ended up in the back of a police cruiser. I wasn't too worried. I knew I could get out easily enough; however, the scene outside was too interesting to even think about leaving.

It was a murder scene. But that wasn't what intrigued me. It was the man arguing with a detective. Sherlock Holmes. I could faintly hear the conversation.

"Sherlock! The only one qualified here to be your assistant is Anderson!" The graying detective shouted.

"Anderson isn't even able to qualify as a detective, Lestdes. I need someone competent, not some moron who will get in my way!" Sherlock argued back.

"It's Lestrade and there-"

Sherlock cut him off, "He'll do." He was pointing straight at me.

Lestrade shook his head, "Wait. What? No Sherlock he's a criminal. I can't just let him out! Do you know how long it took to even catch him!"

Sherlock ignored him and walked up to the car. Leaning down, he began studying my features. I decided to play a little game.

I knew many things about Holmes. Like his deductions. And I also knew that he had never encountered someone like me.