Runaway| Sherlock×Daughter!Reader
Requested: Nope! The idea popped in my minded and I wanted to write it.
Warnings: This is an A/U where the apartment is spread on to the floor above, where the bedrooms and Sherlock's office is. Maybe a little angst, but nothing too big.
Summary: You hated the place you grew up in and the relationship with your father. People expected you to be smart, and you were. It was just that you wanted a better relationship with you father, which felt like it wouldn't happen. So you try to find your way and see if he cares.
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The words he told you that day had the consequences of an excruciating pain. Maybe he didn't mean them to have this effect on you, but they did. Not like he cares about your feelings., you thought.
It’s been a few hours since the incident, yet his words still rang through your ears crystal clear. Sometimes, you act so stupid you make me wonder if you’re ever going to become a detective. With that attitude of yours, you’ll definitely fail any hope I had for your future. That’s what h. wanted .to make your father proud. Your deepest wish was to get even the smallest crumb of attention and emotion from your father to you, any emotion that wasn’t anger or disappointment.
He’s been sitting in his office, at his desk, ever since. He’s probably forgotten about this incident and the words he said, and occupied himself with a new case. You couldn’t say you were so lucky. Having arguments with a high-functioning sociopath who happened to be your father always ended up that way- he always returned to his office and focus on a case, forgetting about the incident within minutes, while you returned to your room and tried to bring yourself back on track, even when you felt like crying your eyes out.
You slid yourself out of your bed, walked down the stairs and walked towards the kitchen. As you passed by the living room, you heard the front door creaking. You watched how the door opened, allowing the familiar face of a man with short grey hair and a black jacket- your father’s colleague and only friend. At first, he smiled, but seeing your red cheeks and wet eyes, any spark of joy on his face disappeared, replaced by worry.
‘Y/N,’ he said, as he entered the house, closing the door slowly behind him. 'What happened?’
You’ve known each other for a few months now, and he’s seen you upset every now and then -as it turned out, you were much more capable of empathy and feeling emotions than your father-, but he’s never asked you until now. In a way, it made him feel like it wasn’t appropriate for him to ask, but he knew the feeling of being alone and far from the reach of help. If he could, he wanted to help you.
'Hello, Mr. Watson,’ you greeted as you wiped off the tears lingering in your eyes, 'Nothing out of the ordinary. I had an argument with my father, he said some things to me that might’ve hurt me a little too much and… yeah. I don’t know how to cope with it.’
John’s face hardened. He was very much aware that Sherlock was an insensitive person. It was annoying, but he never felt personally attacked by the man’s words. He was used to harsh words in the war, words all coming from his superiors and comrades, but a girl of fifteen with no obligations to the country and in a stable situation should not experience such thing. It was a family thing, he knew, but at the same time, this was the first time he’s seen you this upset by your father’s words.
'What did you father say?’ He asked.
You explained shortly what the argument was about, and you repeated the exact words your father told you. John didn’t seem to relax any bit.
'That’s terrible. Where is he now? In his office?’ You nodded. 'I’d like to talk with him about this. This is unacceptable.’
As he said that, he turned around and began walking up the stairs.
'Oh, it’s not necessary, Mr. Watson,’ you said, as he reached the middle of the stairs, 'He won’t listen.’
John turned around and shot you a confused look. ’This is about you. You’re his daughter. Of course he’ll listen.’
'Honestly, Mr. Watson, I would be surprised if he felt the smallest crumb of love or care towards me.’
The ex-soldier frowned as he walked the stairs back down. 'What do you mean?’
'He’s a sociopath, and a damn strong one. He most likely didn’t tell you about this, but my mother was killed when I was very little. She was a detective, too, but was shot three times to death by accident by my father while on a case. He mistook her for the enemy, and shot. The jury let him go under the pretext of self defense. If it wasn’t the few photos Mrs. Hudson has of my parents, I probably wouldn’t even know what my mother looks like anymore. Other than those photos and Mrs. Hudson's’ stories, I can’t say I have any kind of memory of her.’
John smiled softly. He knew very well how children were made, but Sherlock never confessed about what kind of relationship he was in when his daughter appeared and how you came into his custody while his wife was gone.
'What did Mrs. Hudson say about her?’ He asked.
You relaxed your shoulders. 'She said that my mother was incredibly sharp and intelligent, yet so caring and lovely, whatever that means. She said how it was a match made in heaven, as she’s never seen my father so happy before. He smiled whenever he was with my mother and would do anything to make her happy. She said I was a wanted child, but I think that after my mother’s death, while he would not give up on me, I was nothing but a grim reminder of his neglection in that case. I know he would never send me away, but I don’t think he cares about me in the real sense.’
A bittersweet feeling caught onto John. Sherlock smiling genuinely and dedicating himself on to making people happy? Sherlock… feeling? It was an odd idea, but not impossible. He’s lost people before. He knew the feeling. Yet… the idea of having a child that feels unloved because of an incident they couldn’t control still made him feel even more pain. John nodded lightly.
'Thank you for telling me. I’ll talk to your father, and see what we can do, okay?’
You nodded. It wasn’t okay, but you appreciated his genuine feelings of worry. It wasn’t something you got often. Knowing your father, you didn’t know how much that John’s words would affect him, but the attempt to fix something was still something you were grateful for. After multiple failed attempts, you gave up on trying to truly communicate with him.
John went upstairs as you took a glass of water from the kitchen and carried it to your room. As you passed by your father’s office, you felt a certain argument going on. You stopped walking.
'John, she’s fifteen, she gets food, she has water, a place to sleep, she has good grades, what’s the problem?’ Your father’s voice said, in a slightly angered tone.
’Communication, Sherlock. She wants a father, not someone who’s there to make sure she’s remaining alive.’
You felt how your lungs refused to get the full amount of air they normally would as something stopped in your neck, when heating the doctor’s words.
'How do you know what she needs?’ Sherlock shot back, 'You didn’t raise her, I did.’
'It’s not rocket science, Sherlock. Just try to more open with her. Be there for her. Please.’
Silence fell between the two for a few moments, before hearing your father getting up from the office chair he was sitting in with a creak.
'It’s not rocket science, huh? I certainly believe so but,’ anxiety pumped in your veins as you heard his footsteps come closer to the door. 'If she isn’t capable of doing the smallest task of doing well in school, I may as well think more seriously about how much of my genetics went onto her.’
‘Sherlock!’ John exclaimed.
Your eyebrows furrowed as you took a step away from the door. How dare he! He’s said many painful and insensitive things towards you, but this! It put all those things i the past to shame. It crossed every line and limit you put to his insults, by far. He could be ashamed of his daughter, but to the point to even wonder if you were his? You couldn’t stand and watch that. It would only get worse if you didn't do anything.
You walked down the grey hallway and entered your bedroom. It wasn’t a big bedroom and was originally fairly modest, but after your father gave you the ok to decorate it as you wished, it became more colourful and welcoming. Various posters hanged on your wall that presented various series you loved and people you admired.
Your father needed to learn the consequences of his actions, and you had a plan. Before you started the search for the things you needed, you took your phone and connected it to your charger, along with a powerbank. You needed a phone that would last, and a backup for when it’ll run out of battery. You looked through your room until you found the first thing you needed for your plan- a spacious, black backpack you once got from your uncle Mycroft. You don’t remember the exact context through which you got it, but you knew it was from him.
You grabbed a half empty plastic bottle you had in your room and filled it with the water that you carried to your room. You placed the bottle of water in the corner of your backpack, before proceeding to fill up half your backpack with some spare clothing. You made a quick trip to the kitchen again, from which you returned with a half-eaten sandwich wrapped in an aluminium foil you brought home that day from school. As you passed by your father’s office, the two men inside now talked much quieter and calmer, on a topic far from you. You took your wallet and put it in one of your jacket’s pockets,before eventually checking your phone’s battery. You looked at your phone’s screen, which now showed you that the battery was 80% full. Good enough, you thought. The powerbank appeared to be fully charged. You stuffed thepowerban and charger inside your backpack, before closing it, and put your phone in your jacket pocket. Taking your jacket on, you looked at the clock hanging on your wall. 8:40 PM.
Taking your current plan, your luck was that today was a Friday, which happened to be the last day before the winter break. You had two weeks to settle things with your father. If he wanted to do things his way, so would you. You threw your backpack on your back, and walked quietly down the stairs. Taking how focused your father and his partner in crime were on their current case, they probably wouldn’t notice your disappearance. Not immediately. You took your shoes on, opened the front door and left without looking back. Just as you put your hand on the apartment building’s exit door, you felt a presence creep behind you.
‘Y/N dear, where are you going this late?’
You cursed on the inside. You turned your head around and looked at the old woman with a smile.
‘I’m going to Madeleine’s house, Mrs. Hudson. We’re having a sleepover tonight.’
Madeleine was your cousin, Mycroft’s daughter. You were born a couple of months apart so it wasn’t like there was a large age gap between you two. You took a little of your fathers’ rivalry upon yourselves, but the coldness between those two didn’t stop you from forming a strong, close bond.
The woman seemed relieved when hearing your words. ‘Your father knows about this, I suppose?’
Before you could let the woman say anything else, you exited the building and began wandering the dark, wet streets of London. In truth, you didn’t know where to go. In the end, Mycroft’s house was the best place to end at. You could wander the streets for a while and then… You froze as you felt a cold hand press against your shoulder. You could only walk two streets away. Could’ve they already…? You turned your head around, ready to see your father or Mr. Watson, but it was neither. It was a woman in her early twenties with long, dark hair. Her face reminded you a lot of your own father. Odd, but it can happen. You squinted your eyes at her for a moment, as you analysed her. One thing you inherited from your father was, although seemingly weak, his observation skills.
She was too clean to be a homeless, but she was below the average ordinary people’s life. A lower class person.The hair was brushed thoroughly, but not washed properly in two or three weeks, masked with some shampoo spray to look decent.The clothes on her wear casual and practical to keep warm, but not well kept and old looking- giving you the feeling that she wore them for along time without washing them. Low class with money problems, probably struggling to pay rent and bills.Tries to be as economical as possible.
‘Y/N?’ She asked, ‘Are you Y/N Holmes?
You nodded lightly. You made an appearance on TV and the newspapers a couple of times, so it wouldn’t be a surprise if people heard of you.
‘You’re not safe on the streets at night. Please go back home.’
You shook your head. ‘Thank you, but… please leave me alone. I know what I’m doing.’
She let go of you, allowing you to go further, minding your own business. Whoever that woman was, it was an odd conversation. She was well-meaning, you knew that, but you couldn’t go home. Not now. Not so soon.
In the meantime, it seemed like a case was one step closer to be solved in the 221b Baker Street apartment.
‘Can you ask Y/N if she’s hungry?’ Sherlock asked, as he arranged some papers on his desk. ‘I didn’t make any food, and neither did she.’
‘I’m not her father.’ John said, looking at Sherlock expectantly.
Sherlock raised his head to look at the man with a blank stare. ‘You’re not. But that doesn’t mean you’re not capable of…’
‘Sherlock, just go talk with her!’ John exploded, ‘You had an argument with her. She’s upset. You can’t keep silent for forever!’
Sherlock sighed as he stood up. ‘If you insist…’
He walked to your room and felt his face wrinkle in confusion as no light passed through the crack under your door. There was no way you were asleep so early. You never went to bed before 10 PM, and it was just 10 minutes before 9. He knocked on the door.
‘Y/N? Open the door please.’
‘Y/N?’ Sherlock tried again. ‘I just want to know if you’re hungry.’
‘If you don’t open the door now, I’m going to come in.’
It seemed like luck wasn’t by his side that evening. He opened the door slowly, only to be met by a dark room. He reached for the light switch and turned the lights on. No one was in the room, and various objects were scattered around the floor. Sherlock felt how his heart missed a beat.
'Y/N! Where are you?' He yelled, as he hurried down the hall. He walked down the stairs, his eyes scanning the rooms. You weren't there either. 'John!'
It didn't take long for John to come. Hearing the man's yelling, he was already up.
'What's wrong? Where's Y/N?' John asked, worryingly.
'I… I don't know! I thought she was in her room, goddammit!
The front door opened slowly, as Mrs. Hudson came in, looking at Sherlock questioningly.
'What's with this noise, Sherlock?' She asked, 'It's 9 PM, for God's sake!'
'I don't know where Y/N is. Have you seen her?'
The woman frowned. 'She left about 20 minutes ago, I think. She said that she went to Madeleine's house for a sleepover. I asked her if you knew about it, and she said that you did.'
For a moment, Sherlock and John made eye contact.
'Mycroft's place.' John said.
Sherlock paused, as he looked at the front door. 'She took her black shoes. The Adidas ones, for better mobility. They're more comfortable, allowing the user to walk longer distances without a discomfort. Assuming she took her new jacket,' Sherlock paused for a moment as he walked up the stairs, 'She'll be able to walk a long distance without discomfort because of the coldness or her feet.'
He entered your room, opened your wardrobe and all your drawers, followed by John and Mrs. Hudson who couldn't do anything but look at him.
'She's taken the backpack Mycroft gave her, her phone, charger and a power bank,' he said agitated as he walked around the room, looking for clues, 'She wouldn't need a power bank if she went to Mycroft's, and if that's the case, she probably didn't plan to come back anytime this evening. Empty glass, bottle… she also took a bottle of water with her and some spare clothes, so she wouldn't dehydrate and be dirty if anything happened. She probably took some food with her too.'
For a moment, Sherlock stopped from walking and talking as he thought of a conclusion. As they sat at the door, John was frozen in the shock, while Mrs. Hudson was trembling, inches away from sobbing.
'If I would've known, maybe… She didn't give any sign that there might be anything wrong.' She said.
'Of course not.' Sherlock said, calmly. 'She's a good liar. Conclusion: Y/N ran away.'
That short sentence was enough to bring Mrs. Hudson to such emotions that made her tears fall, along with wails of pain and worry as John tried to call her down.
'This is all your fault, you know?' John said, looking at Sherlock, 'Not yours, Mrs. Hudson, it's Sherlock's. How insensitive can you be?'
'She's your daughter! High functioning sociopath or not, you're supposed to love and to protect her! Did you even bother to ever ask her about how she's coping with the loss of her mother?'
'She was very young when her mother died.' Sherlock said, coldly.
'Y/N's told me how she died. Whatever happened there is not my business but please, be compassionate with her, even if it hurts. If I had a daughter, I would go through Hell and back just so she would be happy. Why don't you? Do you even know what she thinks-'
'I don't know how!' Sherlock exploded, making Mrs. Hudson stop from crying for a moment, 'She's my daughter. Do you think I'm so heartless to hate her? I can assure you, John, I loved my wife with all my heart. Y/N's all I have left of her. I could never hate her. She's my only real family.'
John's eyes widened. This man…
'Sherlock, that's beautiful.' Mrs. Hudson commented, as she wiped off her tears.
'Then why…?' John asked, his voice trailing off.
'I don't know how to communicate with her, okay? She's so different from me and so sensible that I always get the feeling that if I say anything, it might hurt her. That… bringing to the lack of communication. Then, she asks me why I don't talk to her and… I just can't. We always get in arguments, do you think I like it?'
'Just tell her. Ask her to sit down and try to word out everything.'
'If it only was that simple,'Sherlock said as he walked out of the room, 'but if we don't make a single attempt to find her, I'll never get the chance to do the impossible.'
He took his coat on and stormed out of the apartment, not waiting for his colleague. He got outside the apartment and stopped for a moment. Think, Sherlock, think. Where would Y/N go? It was already some time after 9 PM, so most places would already be closed.
'Did you call Mycroft?' John said as he catches up to him.
'Why should I? He'll know nothing more than me.'
'He works with the police, doesn't he? He can easily send some people after her to help.'
For a moment, Sherlock considered
'I'll call my brother only we truly can't find her.'
And with that, Sherlock began to talk down the streets of London aimlessly. It was almost as if he was hoping to see you any corner. He did, in a way, it he was aware it wouldn't be so simple.
You were smart. He didn't even know why he said those words to you that day. He didn't even know why he even consider you any less that worthy. He wished you to be like him, but as it seemed, you were in the same position he once was. Parents often wish the best for the kids, but forget what's truly best for the child itself. In that moment, he wasn't Sherlock Holmes anymore. He wasn't the famous particular detective every detective envied. At that moment, he was nothing more than a desperate fool trying to find his daughter.
Meanwhile, you were sitting in the cold on the stairs of someone's front door. What were you even doing there? You could've easily called Mycroft and go to a safe, warm space. But he'd call your dad, and he'd come to get you. You were in no mood to do that. You didn't have the energy for another argument.
The voice came to you so unexpectedly that you jumped straight up, your senses now sharp and alert. Next to you was the same woman that stopped you earlier that evening, with a curious, worried look. In that moment, you regretted not bringing any kind of weapon with you. You could've called the police, but again...
'What do you want?' You asked, 'Are you stalking me?'
'I'm not here to hurt you, so relax.'
Her words came so unexpectedly that you obeyed immediately. Although still alert, any feeling of fear and concern you felt went away, leaving you staring at the woman blankly.
'Your father is looking for you with some friend of his, and he's worried sick. He's almost on the verge of calling your uncle.'
You snorted. 'Like he'd ever do that for me. Calling my uncle and all, I mean. If he really wants, he'll find me.'
You knew that all along. Your father was a private detective, for God's sake. He's dealing with missing people every day. You didn't plan on going anywhere far or make it too complicated for him. You just wanted to give him a small surprise, like an alarm that something wasn't good with you.
'He's a smart man. If you want, I know a place where you can hide for as long as you want. It's safe from the authorities. My people know some people up there, in the government. They can pull some strings for you.'
'Your people?' You frowned.
'Well of course,' she smiled sheepishly, 'How do you think I'm still roaming around as I please? We don't have much time left, though. I need an answer now.'
It was tempting. Very tempting. But it would be only temporary, and for a short amount of time. Whoever this woman was, she gave you a good opportunity to escape. But your father knew your weak points and he'd get the information out of you with no trouble. You didn't want to do that to her.
'I don't want to put you at risk,' You told her, 'But I want to keep contact with you, if anything happens for real. How can I find you then?'
She smiled. 'Go to Baker's Hollow and ask for Eurus. They'll bring you to me.'
'Eurus. Wait… Baker's Hollow? I never heard if it.'
'You're too young to know it. It's a place downtown, where the freaks all come around. It's full of interesting people willing to do all sorts if things for you, in return for something. Anything worthy for their actions.'
You nodded. 'Thank you. I'll keep it in mind.'
For a moment, the woman looked behind you, down the dark street.
'I'll have to go now. See ya.'
'Goodbye ' You said, as you watched the woman disappear behind the street's corner.
You turned around and began walking. The street was empty and lighted nicely by multiple street lamps spread on it. Somewhere in the distance behind you, two sets of hurried steps could be heard, approaching you rapidly.
'Y/N, stop right there this instant!' A strict yet familiar male voice yelled after you.
You sighed as you stopped walking. So they really got me fast, you thought, turning around. You raised your head, ready to face the man's wrath on you, but instead, you were pulled in an inescapable bear hug. You felt how your father rested his head on yours as you tried to process what was happening.
'God, I was so worried about you,' he mumbled.
Your father… hugging you? Telling you he was worried? The last time you remember him hugging you was when you were eight, after twisting your ankle for the first time. As for his worries, you hoped for him to be worried, but you never thought of him showing it. In your best case scenario, he'd scold you for running away, let you off the hook and not talk to you for a week. It was nothing you expected to happen, in none of your calculations, and to put it simply, you didn’t know how to react to it. You let yourself fall prey to your instincts and did what you felt like was right- you hugged him back.
Sherlock felt his heart beat harder than ever. His daughter was fine. You were there, with him, with all your limbs intact- wounds. He pulled out of the hug and knelt down a little to get on your level. He grabbed you by your shoulders.
You shook your head negatively.
'You sure? Did you fall or-'
Sherlock pursed his lips. 'Of course I believe you. You're my daughter.'
You smiled sheepishly. For a moment, Sherlock paused as you made eye contact with his sidekick.
'I'm sorry to put you through the trouble of looking for me, Mr. Watson.' You told him.
'Y/N, why did you go away?’ Sherlock asked, ‘I promise I won't get mad.
You looked back at your father, with a blank stare. You wanted to tell him so badly the reasoning behind your little escape, but you didn’t know if you should. You didn’t know if he’d understand, let alone try to fix it. You were fine and alive, what would he need more from you? You were nothing but a reminder of what he once lost on a case because of his momentary inattention.
‘Go on.’ John encouraged softly, ‘Tell him. It’s okay.’
You felt your face wrinkling in overwhelming as all the emotions you suppressed through time came back to you at once.
‘I just wanted you to look at me,’ you said as you choked on your tears, ‘‘People always tell me how much I’m like you and you always tell me things of when I’ll become a detective but you never ask me if I want to become one. You never ask me about school or how I’m doing, and I… I get the feeling like I’m a burden to you and everyone.’
‘A burden? That’s absurd!’ Your father said, incredulously. ‘Who told you these things? Did your uncle Mycroft say that?’
‘He didn’t. He never said anything like that. No one did. It’s just that sometimes, I don’t feel like your daughter, but a stupid, daily reminder that my mother died and the cause she died. Maybe if I just disappear, then-’
Your father pulled you in another hug, holding you tight as he rested his head on your shoulder. Every emotion you’ve felt until then couldn’t be suppressed anymore, leaving you to empty yourself from your sorrows through ugly sobs. You felt so weak, so useless. There, you said it all to your father, but your chest didn’t feel any lighter. The same hardness lay on your chest, restlessly tormenting you day and night.
‘You’re not a burden, Y/N,’ your father said quietly, ‘You’re anything but a burden. You never were one, and you’ll never be. When your mother died, it was very painful, but you’re not responsible for it, and I’m sorry you feel that way. I loved your mother very much, and I don’t think I’d be able to love another woman so much. It happened so long ago that without you, I might forget things. But with you, I remember everything perfectly. I remember your mother, and why I have to keep going. You’re not a burden to me, Y/N. You’re the best thing that happened to me. I don’t know where I would be without you.’
Standing behind you two, John blinked repeated as he tried to stop his eyes from stinging. As it seemed, there was much more to your problems than you let people know. Lack of parental attention was already a problem, but everything that came after it was even more serious. Sherlock's negligence could be debatable, but the things he told you were something new and unusual to the Sherlock he knew.
John was very much aware of how much that your father cared about you- he talked about you whenever he got the chance, may it be laughing at a joke you told him or a funny story, or may it be his praising over you and your achievements, anyone who'd spend time with Sherlock would be able to tell just how much you meant to him. It was just unbelievable that Sherlock would express those feelings to you.
As for you, you’ve never held onto your father harder. You hugged him so hard you felt your fingers hurt. He didn’t seem to mind it, though. Were those his true feelings? Then… all that time, it was just your mind playing tricks on you. You father really cared about you. He held you like that until you calmed down and didn’t cry anymore. After you calmed down, he looked at you and smiled softly as he wiped your tears with his sleeve.
‘Let’s go home, shall we?’
Sherlock paused as John gave him a pressuring look, 'What?'
'Oh, alright, alright. John, Y/N, let's go.'
You entered the apartment you were so familiar with and took off your shoes and jacket.
'Are you hungry, Y/N?' Your father asked as he walked through the kitchen, 'It's still eight thirty P.M., I could order some pizza.'
You smiled. 'That sounds great.'
There were people who cared about you. There were people who loved you. You felt how a burden was lifted from your chest. No matter how tough it would get, there will always be someone for you. You were loved. You mattered.
