The Holmes' Sister

The Flight

I sat there in the airport, still uneasy about flying. I prefer trains, but I have to make it seem that I went farther away from London. So the over-priced ticket to fly to Geneva, Switzerland it is.

Boarding the plane is quick compared to the tedious waiting for the plane to take off. I can't imagine the looks and glares I got from the other passengers, but I do have blood on my knuckles from punching people. In defense, I had to get away if I didn't want to be stuck in that horrible asylum again. I won't ever forget my time in that Hospital. The walls of the that place were enough to drive any normal, sane person, insane. But fortunately, I've never been normal, and I doubt I ever will. Somehow, I had managed to have kept my bit of sanity during my stay there, the reason I was there is a whole different story. I look over at the other passengers, windows, and seats seeing everything non-moving, we're still waiting to takeoff. I let my eyes close to remember why I was at that Hospital.

~Flashback~

- 3rd POV -

A six year-old Anistyn stood by the side of the road, not doinganything out of the ordinary. Well.. For a Holmes.. She was looking at each passing car, and the passengers in each one. Figuring out where they all were going, and who they were visiting. She did this everyday at four in the afernoon, after school. Knowing Anistyn, her parents never watched her, because if she did get kidnapped she would babble, and talk endlessly, making highly skilled guesses on the person, or people who had nabbed her. An unmistakably dark black van drifted over to where the young girl stood, the passenger door opened and she was quickly pulled in. Anistyn didn't talk out loud though, she told herself about each one of them in her head, memorizing their faces and voices as they talked. Though she started to talk they knocked her out and dropped her off at a more average looking hospital. It turned out to be more of an asylum than a hospital.

~End flashback~

Those were the four worst weeks of my life, compared to my time in the army, it was worse. I was treated like a sick dog, an estranged animal not capable of understanding normal life. Mycroft ended up picking me up, he had informed me that mother and father had been worried, but Sherlock was too 'busy with work' to be bothered that I had gone missing. I shiver in my seat slightly, remembering it all is... Different because I had shut all of those memories away. I look out of the plane window for my seat and see we're starting to move. The plane starts to move faster and faster, the crevices and bumps on the runway are felt through my seat. Then when I feel that the plane is about to reach its breaking point, and I'm pressed to the back of my seat by the speed, suddenly all pressure is released and we're floating in the air. And for the first time I'm not leaving to protect my family, but to protect myself from my family. I hate that logic because, that means I can't ever stop running unless my name I cleared and I'm not guilty of treason.

"Miss?" A deep voice breaks through my thoughts, and I look from the window and to my left to see a man my age sitting next to me.
"Yes?" I reply, covering my pained voice with blandness. Also covering my accent with an American one. The man's dark eyebrows move into a confused look.

"May I ask you what's wrong? You seem upset."

"Nothing's wrong." I easily lie to the stranger, but the man's eyes show worry; seeing through my lie.

"Something is wrong." He pesters.

"What's your name?" I query.

"Beckett Keene, and yours?" Beckett replies, and my mind races with the idea to either tell him my real name or not. Within the second I decide not to reveal my real name.

"Jennifer Lawson." I reply smoothly, my American accent not breaking.

"Nice to meet you Jennifer, but I feel something's wrong. I just want to help." The man says, and I look into his kind eyes. Poor man hasn't ever seen torment, the endless thoughts pestering your own mind with never ending snide remarks or ideas bantering away. The man's eyes are soft; he hasn't let the world change him or morph him into something that's not him. I smile a pained smile to him, allowing him to see my dilemma through my face.

"I'm sorry." He suddenly says, and I tilt my head in confusion of his saying that.

"For what?"

"What you've gone through, my mother always used to have that look on her face. She didn't grow up in a good place or was treated right. But she raised me, and she said never to let anyone change you because, you have your own mind, your own thoughts." He openly stated, looking straight into my eyes and right now I see that he has been through hurt, but he never allowed it to change him.

"Thank you." I honestly tell him, and he smiles a small smile then returns to the book he was reading previously, "So why are you headed to Geneva?"

The man looks up at me, kindness still in his face, "I'm going back to my unit, I had requested to go back home for a month because my mother was dying. Her funeral was yesterday and my unit needs me back."

"You're in the Army."

"Marines actually ma'am." He replies politely.

"I'm sorry."

"It's alright, why are you heading to Geneva?"

"I'm running." I whisper to myself, but Beckett heard it and his eyes become alarmed.

"Running from who? Do you need help?" His voice becomes urgent and worried.

"It's a marathon." I lie, laughing lightly. Suddenly the plane starts descending, and soon enough we touch down.

"That was a good flight then." Beckett says to me as he stands up.

"Yes, I-" I start the sentence but I don't get to finish it as we both see someone waving a gun around at the passengers. Beckett immediately pushes me down so I'm in the crevice between my seat and the seat in front of it, in a sitting postition. He quickly crouches down next to me as we hear yelling. Then Beckett gets up. Heading toward the man with the gun. I quickly stand and follow him, but I don't get very far. The man with the gun sets his sights on me, and decides to aim the weapon at me and pull the trigger. The bullet glides through the air at an alarming rate towards my heart. For some reason Beckett is suddenly in front of me. Shielding me, he pushes me to the side as he takes the bullet, not having time to avoid it himself.

I quickly get up and dash to him, a pool of blood is growing on his chest and I grip his hand in mine tightly. For me, this is strange. Strange that someone would protect me, take a bullet for me. Even more strange that I would try to comfort that person, but look at me now. I've gone soft.

"Beckett, why'd you save me?" I softly question.

"Because your running from someone, and you need to win." He gasps in uneven breaths.

"I was in the Army, I could've taken the bullet." I laugh lightly, trying to make him smile.

"But you deserve less bullet scars." He says, nodding toward my bullet scarred arms. I forgot to wear a long sleeved shirt.

"These? These are fine, these are from protecting others."

"Still scars. No one should have scars." He chokes out.

"Beckett, stay with me." I say urgently, "Has someone called the paramedics?!!" I shout at the people, I hear a chorus of soft 'yes' s'.

"I'll try my very best." He says, then takes a final breath, and is gone from the earth. I feel tears on my face, so I drop his hand, stand up and walk off the plane. I grab my luggage and leave the airport trying to forget the man that gave his life to save mine. A kind man saved a cruel woman's life. I won't forget him though, I know I won't. Because he's the man I immediately trusted for some reason. He saw through my lies. I hail a cab and drop my luggage in the seat next to the one I sit in. Telling the cabbie my destination, I sit in silence.

This is why I'm running. I'm running from my family and for the man who saved my life from a bullet. I will clear my name. I will be able to go home again one day.