A/N: Hi guys, this might be unexpected but i really want to rewrite the story's first chapters and EDIT the others. I have so many new things i want to have added in the story that only can be introduced in the first chapters. Plus i want to write it better, the first chapters i wrote while traveling and i didn't really have all the time to make it good. But don't worry! I'm still writing the continuation. Just might take a little slower. So here it is. First chapter of The eyes of a clown, remake!
Rosie is born in 1978, so is 19 in 1997 which is when the fic is set in.
Summary: Rosie unpacks for her new apartment!
Warnings: Mentions of death, addiction and abuse.
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‘’It was time, time for me to move from home and now it’s happend. It's wack to think that i'm an adult now and have responsibility. I really have to get things fixed up here in the apartment. It's a mess now that there's boxes everywhere but ill get that fixed in no time. Bye.’’
Rosie closed the diary and sighed as she leaned back in her couch, one of the few things that were actually available to sit on in the place.
She had just moved away from home. Got lucky with an small one bedroom apartment in the city of Gotham. Sure it was in of the bad neighborhoods but it was inside the city and the rent is cheap!
The foster home had to spit her out at one point and another right?
She had worked hard for the money to get her own place, working graveyard shifts and overall weird jobs.
''Speaking of jobs, i should try to find one tomorrow''
She said to herself. No one was listening after all. At the foster home you could never be too sure if you really were alone.
Rosie gets off the couch to slowly unpack some things.
~~~~
Finally after some time, she had finally unpacked everything. It felt like an eternity but honestly it only took an hour or two.
Rosie checked the clock on the wall over the front door.
''Shit, aiight. Time for bed''
The bed was unfortunately her bed sofa. The bed she ordered at the store hasn't arrived yet so sofa it is! But she didn't really mind, all she could focus on was that she has her OWN place. Free.
She fell asleep quickly, feeling the weight she's put on her body today really taking its toll.
‘’I am in a dark place. I think i'm alone but i'm not. There are people with eyes but the rest of their face is gone and they are completely jet black. Only their eyes are visible. All but one, a man who's standing at the end of the folk mass. He has dark hair and wears a beige hoodie. I try to place my hand on his shoulder so i can turn him around. And i s-..’’
Rosie wakes up in a cold sweat, like always. This is the dream she's had since she was young. They started a few years after her mother died.
Rosie and her mom moved around a lot, lived with many different people in bad places. Her mom was an addict and it showed. They never stayed at one place for too long as most of the people sheltering them got tired of mom fast.
Rosie was left alone for most of the time. Sure she went to school but all the kids avoided her because their parents knew about her mom and didn't want their ‘‘precious’‘ children near her kid.
It was lonely, growing up like that. Her mom did care about her for sure, but the drugs were apparently more important and it got the better of her.
When Rosie's mother died, she was about 9 years old and got thrown into foster care,Though Rosie actually enjoyed foster care better, she wasn't alone all the time now.
Her mom never talked about her father. Rosie had asked many times and every time her mom got this face of terror. Eventually she stopped asking and just let it go.
Rosie sighed as she moved the covers from her body and got up from the couch. She groaned and stretched before walking to the kitchen to get a cup of coffee.
~~~~
Now with her coffee, she went back to the sofa and turned on the small tv she had. She had gotten it from a donation from her last foster home, a moving away gift if you will.
Rosie zapped through the channels until she found a news channel broadcasting crime.
The first thing that came up on screen was batman, apparently he had stopped a big time robbery from happening.
''So Mr.Batman, could you tell us what happend here?'' The news reporter said.
You could see that it was a resend from last night as it was dark out.
''No comment'' Batman said in his hoarse voice.
''He's do damn weird, but helpful'' Rosie said out loud.
''well, that's what i got from that. Back to the studio to you Tom.'' The reporter said.
Rosie slowly sipped her coffee, she had always enjoyed the morning broadcasts.
''Thank you Linda. And speaking of crime. Today marks the 17th year of the murder of beloved tv host Murray Franklin and the riots that Joker caused. Joker's name being Arthur Fleck was invited to the show during the time of the Clown killings. As it turned out he was the man behind it all.''
Rosie's ears perked up. This case had always been interesting to her. Apparently it happend when she was still very small but she remembers seeing news stories about it. No pictures though so this was interesting.
Then a picture of the man calling himself Joker popped up on screen.
She froze.
It was only up for a few seconds but it was enough, something started inside of her.
Those eyes. They looked so similar to her own, it was like looking into a mirror.
''During this time, the beloved Wayne's were murderd. Leaving Bruce on his own at only 10. Mr. Wayne now being in charge of the Wayne company an-...''
Rosie turned the tv off.
Her coffee went cold in her hands, those eyes. Who was he?
She just knew there was something she had to investigate about this.
Anon Request: Eyoooo I LOVE THAT YOU DO ONESHOTS OMG OMG my friend literal,y just recommended your blog and IM FREAKING OUTTTTT! Can you write one where the reader is Sherlock’s and Irene’s daughter (Sherlock has no idea). She comes to him and Watson looking for help to find her father and doesn’t tell them who her mom is and stuff so it’s like a game she plays with them, kinda continuing her mom’s work. In the end maybe a “family reunion”when Sherlock finally figures it out. XD
enjoy!
The day wasn’t starting as well as you had hoped. Not only did it take 4 different cabs to find this 221b Baker Street, but since you’ve arrived in the building some old lady had offered you tea a million times. No matter how many polite ways you turned her down she just kept coming back.
“Tea? I’ve brought a biscuit this time.”
You groaned loudly before replying. “No, Ma’am. I really don’t want tea. Can I just wait here for Sherlock?”
She looked taken back, “The name is Ms. Hudson, dear. No need to empty your lungs at me. Just offering you a cuppa.” And she waddled away.
As annoying as she was you couldn’t help but feel grateful for her presence. After all, she was the one who trusted you enough to let you sit in Sherlock’s flat while he and his flat mate were away. Here you were, sitting in a comfortable armchair with a perfect view of the stairs when you could be sitting outside in the cold looking incredibly pathetic. This, you thought, was definitely better.
This whole charade you were about to put on for Sherlock had to be perfect. You needed to look helpless. You had thought about pretending to cry, but your mother, Irene Adler, wouldn’t be very proud of that. She always thought that a woman didn’t need to look “weak” to need help; sometimes those who appear strong need the most help of all. Instead, you were going to appear just as you were. Strong, powerful, and hopefully smarter than the great Sherlock Holmes.
Just then the door down the stairs slammed open causing you to jump in your seat.
‘This is it,’ you thought to yourself. Act natural. It’s no big deal. It’s just your dad who you’ve never met and only ever heard a few stories about.
You didn’t realize just how nervous you were until the man reached the top of the stairs, his flat mate apparently talking to Ms. Hudson on the first floor. All motion stopped when he saw you.
This is it! The first words your father was ever going to say to you!
“Erm...” He began, his eyebrows furrowed and his chin up in question. ”What are you doing in my chair?”
Fucking typical.
“I’m here because I need your help. I want-“
“JOHN!” Sherlock shouted suddenly. Seconds later you heard footsteps running up the stairs, and into the room came a very short man you had known from the papers as John Watson.
“What Sherlock?” The man huffed, looking frantically around the room. That is until he saw you. “What’s she doing in your chair?”
You rolled your eyes. You apparently weren’t off to a good start.
“She has a case?” John asked.
Sherlock leaned down and whispered to the man “We just got home from a case.”
“Sherlock, she’s just a little girl. And since when don’t you want a case anyway?”
John sat in the chair across from you as if to say “we’re staying.” Sherlock rolled his eyes, and he pulled up a chair from the kitchen and placed it right next to John.
You cleared your throat. It was time to start.
“I’m looking for my father-“
“BORED!” Sherlock cried and ran to the kitchen.
John’s eyes widened in disbelief as he watched Sherlock stomp away. He looked slowly back to you and smiled awkwardly.
“I’m really sorry about him. He’s an idiot. Erm... go on.”
You returned Johns awkward smile. You didn’t want to talk to him. You wanted Sherlock. You wanted your father.
“Well,” you began, feeling upset that John was the only one who would listen. “My mother has told me stories about him, my father, but I’ve never met him. He doesn’t know I exist. Now that I think about it, he probably doesn’t want to know that I exist. But I want him to know.”
John was writing all of this down in a pocket notebook, as if any of it really mattered.
“I’m sure he wants to meet you-“
“Probably not!” Sherlock interjected from the kitchen. “If a man has lost this much contact with a woman it’s very unlikely he wants to know he has a daughter.”
You began massaging your temples. If you didn’t say something soon he would never get it.
“Shut up, Sherlock!” John shouted back. “Sorry, dear. You were saying?
You couldn’t take it anymore. You thought you could keep up the charade, but this man was truly insufferable. You’d been waiting too long to find your father for him to walk away the second he met you and then disrespect you from another room. You had to say something to interest him.
“This is about Irene Adler.” You blurted.
John dropped his notepad, and Sherlock tripped over a chair. You knew your mother’s name was powerful, but to see it with your own eyes was hysterical.
Without breaking eye contact, Sherlock walked back into the room and sat down in the chair.
“What. About. Irene. Adler?” He spoke slowly, his voice dropping an octave.
Keeping a straight face was hard; you wanted nothing more than to laugh in his face.
“So now you want to talk, Sherlock Holmes? Was I not interesting enough before?”
John and Sherlock were visibly uncomfortable. It had been years since the mention of that name.
“How do you know Irene Adler?” Sherlock spoke as if this was now an interrogation.
You rolled your eyes. “She is my mother. And I want to find my father. I saw you in the papers and I hoped you could help.”
John looked to his partner wide eyed and confused. “We didn’t know she had a daughter... did she tell you she had a daughter?”
Sherlock didn’t answer. “What has she told you about your father?”
“Only that he’s a total moron. Couldn’t solve a problem if the answer was right in front of him.”
Sherlock laughed, “That sounds like her. She worked mostly with idiot men. Of course, you know all about her work.”
“Yeah, I do. Which is why I need your help. There have been so many guys that there is no way to tell who it could be.”
Sherlock smirked at John. He finally seemed to be enjoying this. “And you thought I could help because your mother told you all about how we solved a crime together.”
“No,” you lied. “She’s never said a thing about you. I never even knew who you were until I saw the papers. You worked on a case together?”
Sherlock’s smile dropped within seconds. “She... she never said anything about me? About how she tried to fool me and how I got the better of her? About how I solved her case and saved her life? She never said a thing?”
You shook your head, pretending to be uninterested. “Nope. So anyway, about my father-“
“She didn’t say a thing!” Sherlock stood from his chair and began to yell. “What, like I’m unimportant to her? As if me saving her life was nothing?”
He looked at you accusingly. “You probably wouldn’t even be alive if it weren’t for me!”
You wanted to laugh. Oh, the irony.
“If I hadn’t saved her life you probably wouldn’t have been born! I mean how old are you anyway!”
“I’m (y/a).” You said calmly.
“(Y/a)! Yes! John, wasn’t it almost exactly y/a years ago that I saved her life!”
“Yes.” John agreed. “It was exactly (y/a) years ago.”
At hearing John’s words Sherlock froze in his tracks and slowly looked to you. You could see the wheels turning behind his eyes. Your heart began pounding against your chest as he looked at you. You knew it was all over.
He walked over to you and kneeled before you. His jaw hung open in disbelief as he examined your bone structure, skin color, hair texture, all of it looking incredibly familiar. All he could manage to say was “exactly (y/a) years...”
John didn’t understand. The anticipation was killing him. “Sorry to interrupt. What’s going on?”
You began to tear up. “I’m your daughter.” You whispered just loud enough for the three of you to hear. You expected Sherlock to back away when you confirmed his thoughts, but instead he stayed by your side.
“Erm. No. Not possible.” John began, shaking his head in disbelief. “Because Sherlock and Irene never... I mean they didn’t... Sherlock isn’t that kind of person. And it’s not like they had the time to really... how could I not know?”
Still looking at you in awe, Sherlock answered John. “The answers were right in front of you, John. You just had to look for them.”
You were shaking under his intense staring. Finally you had to ask what had been on your mind for years.
“Do you even want me?”
Sherlock didn’t hesitate to answer.
“Of course I want you. I just... I didn’t know I wanted you until I met you.”
Without thought you leaned in and hugged Sherlock, and after a moment he hugged back. As the two of you embraced, you heard John groan into his hands, still attempting to piece everything together.
Sherlock broke the hug and, still holding onto your shoulder asked, “where is your mother?”
You smiled wider than you ever thought possible and replied, ”I’ll show you.”
