The Hollow (An Avengers FanFiction)

Chapter Twenty One

I stood at a crime scene. For once it wasn't a crime committed by me. I studied the scene, not leaving anything untouched.

There had been a robbery of a bank by someone in a bunny mask and odd dress. "Seems like someone's an admirer," I mumbled as I looked at the security footage. I rolled my eyes. Somebody saw me one of those nights and they were mocking me. He seemed to dance wildly on the counters as he shot up the place.

Then I noticed his dress. It was the dress from that night. The night that haunts me and I can never get rid of. The dress ripped from my body when that stupid man did that stupid thing. I shivered. My stomach churned and I felt as if I was going to throw up.

I turned to Lestrade. "I can't do this one," I said as I clenched everything.

"What? Why not?" Lestrade asked, "The first time I met you, you were giving Ms. Hooper a severed head!"

"I'll give you some advice, start with the dress he's wearing," a new voice said. It was posh, arrogant, and honest. I turned to see a man with dark curly hair, skin of snow, and icy blue eyes.

"Sherlock!" Lestrade gasped, "But we heard you were chased out of the country! Is John with ya?"

"Of course I'm with him," John teased as he came up to Lestrade and gave him a hug. "Mycroft told us it was finally okay to come back." I didn't speak, I didn't know what to say. I just slipped Sherlock's long jacket from myself and put it on my arm. "But he did tell us a group of teenagers have moved into our flat, so we're staying at a hotel for now."

"Ah! That'd be little Pandora here!" Lestrade cheered as he pushed me toward them.

"Call me little again and I'll snap your arm in two," I whispered to him before turning my attention back to the detective and doctor. I reached the jacket over to Sherlock, "This is yours; I've been wearing it to crime scenes."

Sherlock took his coat before bringing it to his nose. "Blood, AB. You had an intense injury," he observed.

"I did and you ran from the country cause you heard a famous assassin was coming to London to kill you," I also observed, "That's why you and John are so shaky because the assassin is still out there."

"High functioning sociopath?" he asked.

"High functioning autistic," I answered honestly. "Listen, Mr. Holmes, I can't do this case. I'd be honored for you to take it. It's an interesting one for sure." I begin walking toward the door.

"Will do, Ms. Jones," he called, just to annoy me.

"That's not my name," I said, "Don't have a last name; I'm just an orphan. Call me by something that isn't my name again and I'll snap both of your legs, got that?" He looked at me, an annoyed look rested on his face. A cute smile painted mine before I walked out the door.

"I'd actually be careful if I were you," I heard Lestrade say, "I've literally seen her break a battering ram in half." I smirked. Oh, yes, be afraid.

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I woke up in the middle of the night to the sound of angry rustling through the kitchen. It couldn't have been the boys, they know I'm a light sleeper.

I yawned and grabbed my Glock 43 from the bedside drawer and click it before getting up out of bed. I quietly open the door, checking my surroundings. It could've been the admirer. I shuddered at the thought. I tip-toed to the kitchen when I pointed my gun at the intruder.

I turn on the lights, but what I see actually doesn't shock me at all. "Mr. Holmes," I state as unclick my gun and put it down. "Why are you in my kitchen?" I sigh.

"Oh, just looking for my severed head. What did you do with it?" he asked.

"Gave it to the morgue; it was stinking up the place," I tell him, "Now will you please get out of my flat."

"Oh, that's too bad. Wanted to see how it was after two years," he said before closing the cabinet he'd been looking through. "Anyway, I'd like some tea. Would you please make some tea?" he asked. It was less of a question and more like a command.

"No, I don't think I will. Now, get out," I plainly stated.

"That's very rude since I am your houseguest," he said as he headed to his chair. He casually sat down.

"An unwanted one," I mumbled; I rolled my eyes. I sat down across from him in what used to be John's chair. "So, why are you really here?" I asked.

"Whatever do you mean? I already told you why I was here," he stated plainly.

"We both know you weren't just here for that man's head; you're out for mine as well," I say flatly.

"I know you killed those people. Those murders done by rotten parents, they were framed by you," he says honestly. I read him. He didn't have any proof.

"Proof," I tell him, "You need proof. Not even Sherlock Holmes can just arrest anyone without proof."

"That case. The one you gave me," he began, "He was wearing a dress you wore the night you disappeared. The night you were raped."

"How do you know about that?" I asked, my eyes wide as I shook.

"It's quite clear. The paleness of your face when we got there showed your terror. You seemed sickly," he told me, "I am surprised though. Nobody here has noticed that you are the one supposedly adopted by Tony Stark."

"Get out," I grumbled quietly as I shook in my chair.

"Pardon?" he asked.

"I said, GET OUT!" I screamed as I put my gun to him. That's when I heard a bustling from the boys' room. I turned to see Chip snarling at this man as a large dog and Jordan holding his own gun I'd given him.

"Fine, I'll get out, but this isn't over, Jones," he said as he stood up and headed out the door. That's when I fell over.

The pain in my head, it never ceased. It only became worse when that memory was brought up. No matter what I did, that memory was a constant. It was the only thing that was clear as the morning sky in my head.

Jordan puts a hand on my shoulder. "Don't touch me!" I scream at him before crouching into a ball and rocking back and forth. I needed to leave this country and soon.