Natalie

The Beginning

Running, running, sprinting, dodging, falling, crying, running, crying, falling.

That's how it all began. All because of one man. The great Sherlock Holmes. My name is Natalie. I was seven years old, and homeless on the streets of London. He wanted information, I gave it to him. He paid me. It was all plain and simple. Until, that is, I ended up shot. The day started out like any other, the day that changed my entire life.

He wanted some information on a case, so I dug around. Being cute and clever can open many doors. I was giving him what he wanted and just as he was handing me the money. BAM. I heard the gunshot and ran, bills in hand. He took off after me and the second shot made itself heard. And felt as well. Right in the left shoulder, the bullet ripped though and I stumbled onto the pavement, beginning to sob. It hurt and hurt and hurt. Sherlock was coming nearer and that meant so was the shooter. So I picked myself up and ran again. Just make it to Saint Bart's. I repeated in my head. Make it to Molly. Make it to Molly. My eyes blurred with tears I fell again, right on the shoulder. I fought my way through the pain to keep conscious and was trying to pull myself up when someone else came along and did it for me.

Grabbing me by the collar he hoisted me onto his back and continued to make his way opposite the hospital. "M-Molly." I whimpered, knowing she could patch me up like always, without turning me in to an orphanage. But she had told me about Sherlock and she trusted him, so that was good enough for me. "M-M-Moll...." I breathed out, my brain finally shutting down.

I awoke on a kitchen table, my arm looking better, wrapped and clean. A short blond sat in a puffy chair in front of me on a computer. I sat up on the table, taking in the scene as I did so. The various bottles and containers and scientific equipment scattered around the kitchen holding Lord-knows-what. The books stacked on a desk with a spot for a laptop, the dust wasn't as heavy around this area, obviously where the blond's was stored. The skull below the Cluedo board stabbed into the wall with a black-handled dagger. The yellow spray-painted smiley-face that someone had shot multiple times. Judging from the view out the window, I was on the second floor of a building on Baker Street. The man was posting an entry on a blog labeled with the name of John Watson. By what Molly had told me, I was in Sherlock's shared flat, 221b. "Umm, Dr. Watson, could you call Molly? And thank you for fixing my shoulder for me."

The doctor turned, eyebrows raised, clearly flabbergasted. "You're Welcome. And Molly is on her way right now, I just called her. How did you...?" He asked, shutting the computer and walking over, his arms crossed.

"Know who you were? Or that it was you that fixed my wound? Or that I'm sitting in 221b on Baker Street? Deduction. Molly has told me about you and Sherlock, I often read your blog when I go and visit her at her work, it was pretty simple." I say, testing my shoulder. "Superb work, by the way. Don't tell Molly, but you're a bit better of a doctor, which should be expected, she is a coroner, and you served overseas as a doctor, so really it makes sense." I rambled on as Molly's voice was carried up the stairs past an absolutely stunned yet smiling John.

"Natalie, sweet-heart?"

"I'm in the kitchen, Molly!" I called grinning, swinging my legs on the edge of the table.

"Oh, thank goodness!" She cried coming in and giving me a big Molly hug before turning to John and giving him one as well. "John thank you so much for helping her!"

"It was no problem, Molly, really." He smiled and hugged her. "She's rather clever, isn't she?" I blushed a little and smiled. Someone besides Molly thought I was clever? I always thought she was just being kind. Maybe, maybe I really am clever.

Molly just grinned. "John, proper introductions. This is Natalie, she's part of Sherlock's homeless network, the leader of it really. And Nat, you know about John." I swung my legs and then hopped off the table and stuck out my hand to shake, getting on my tip-toes so I could be more level with John.

He grinned wide and shook it. "Very nice to meet you, Natalie."

"You too." I nodded seriously. I then pulled Molly by the hand by a chair and stood in it to whisper in her ear. "Did I do it right?" I asked, my big bright eyes looking into hers, searching for approval.

She giggled and nodded. "Perfectly, Nat." She whispered and I climbed out of the chair.

And there it was. The first time I met Dr. John Hamish Watson. But certainly not the last. My long-lasting relationship with John had just begun, he was one of the men who introduced me to a new, very clever, interesting person.

Myself.