Hope Awakens In You

WARNING: This very short story is based in alcohol and domestic abuse. I promise it isn't horribly graphic, but you have been warned…

Oh, and I don't own BBC's Sherlock. I just own the idea.

Chapter One – Hopeless

She walked down the street, wincing from the pain in her ribs. Justin had kicked her harder than usual; she actually had to make sure he didn't break anything as she slowly limped from the flat through the streets of London. Her bare feet burned with pain, the rocks and pebbles of the street digging into her skin. She wished she could walk until her body gave out, until she breathed out a last breath of freedom, but she knew better than to disappear from his sight forever. He would find her no matter where she went.

She sat on a curb, whimpering as her ribs screamed in pain. She rocked in a weak effort to alleviate the discomfort. You're an idiot, a dark voice hissed in her head. Dinner late again because you fell asleep. You're such an imbecile; that's why Justin hits you. You deserve every. Single. Blow.

Raising her sleeve, she winced at the dark purple blotches decorating her wrists. It was getting harder to hide the scars, the bumps, the wounds. He was getting more violent, and despite the fact that she tried to withstand it, she found it harder and harder to face him each time he came at her.

She got up again and started walking, ignoring the jeer from a group of men passing by her. Sexy? No, not her. She was fat, ugly, a nobody and a nothing. With no education, no skills and nowhere to go, she was completely without an identity. Hell, she didn't even own a name anymore. Justin was right. She was useless without him, a compass with nowhere to point. What use was she to anyone?

The desire for shelter from the cold night air drove her toward a café and she walked in, sitting in a corner booth and pulling her knees to her chest to try and gain her composure back. She had to be over the recent attack before she went back home, or else Justin would be angry…and who knows how far he would take it to make sure she forgot?

"All right there, love?" an elderly man behind the counter called to her, eying her with what she thought was concern. She nodded wordlessly, drawing into herself tighter. The man went into the back briefly and came back out with slice of chocolate pie and a cup of coffee, setting it down in front of her.

"You should eat, dear. You look a fright," he said softly, smiling at her before walking off. With a pause, she slowly unfolded herself and picked up the fork sitting on the table, taking a bite of the pie. It tasted like heaven; before she knew it, she scarfed the slice and coffee down, even going so far as to lick the plate clean of any crumbs. Realizing that she wasn't being very civil in that moment, she threw the fork down, disgusted with her appalling behavior. She could see Justin laughing at her desperation, making fun of her for being so willing to eat food from a stranger's hand.

The elderly man came back and his eyes widened at her clean dishes.

"Are you still hungry?" he asked gently, not bothering to wait for an answer as he went back into the back. A few dishes clattered around, and soon, he reemerged with a plate of roast, potatoes and carrots, setting it down and sitting down across from her. She looked suspiciously from him to the food and picked up her fork again.

"Why are you being so nice to me?" she asked him, trying to consciously take smaller bites of food so as to not alarm the man. He smiled.

"You remind me of my daughter, actually," the man said with a soft chuckle. "I almost thought you were her, but…I had to remind myself that she's still in the ground in the cemetery." She swallowed some roast.

"What happened to her?"

"She died in a car accident," the man said grimly. "Drunk driver."

"I'm sorry," she replied sincerely.

"It's life." the man sighed, running a hand down his face. "You know, when my daughter died, I learned that sometimes life puts us through some of the hardest situations in order to help us find out who we really are." She blinked at the man's statement.

"What do you mean by that?"

"I believe you don't know how strong you really are until you face your worst fears. When Maggie and I lost Julianna, it was so hard. I never thought that I would smile again. I was unhappily employed at the time, and Maggie suggested that in order to cheer myself up, I try to start a café, like the one I used to work in when I was younger. Well, I wasn't really up to the idea, but I needed something to do, so I went for it. And now, here I am. Making a living doing what I love. Talking to people, like you and serving them food, one of the universal ties of human beings." She looked down to her plate, pushing a piece of carrot around.

"Sounds like you've found your calling."

"I have." He nodded. "If Julianna hadn't died, I wonder if I would be here." He shrugged. "Probably not, but you never know." He fell silent and watched as she ate, trying her hardest to take the smallest bites possible. She was starving, and she was hurting…deeper than in the physical realm.

"How long have you been with him?" the man asked her suddenly, making her look up in shock. "He's not very good at hiding his handiwork." He nodded toward her exposed wrist, the bruises looking horrifying under the fluorescent light. She looked down to her lap.

"Too long," she whispered after a few minutes of silence. "Three years…four months…six days," her voice cracked and a tear fell down her cheek. She was embarrassed to be crying in front of a stranger, but he didn't seem repulsed; if anything, he looked heartbroken for her.

"You don't deserve to be abused," the man said gently. She didn't look at him, the shame of not being able to hide Justin's abuse overwhelming her. "It's not right for a man to hit a woman…for any reason," he stressed. "I know it may seem like you can't leave him, but you can. All you have to do is be brave enough to walk away." She bit her bottom lip at his words; she felt something in her lurch at the hopeful tone of his voice. How she wished she could believe him…but he didn't know the monster behind the mask, the nightmare that he created for her within the prison of her mind.

"Thank you for the food," she said suddenly, dropping her fork and getting up to walk off before he could stop her. On her way back to the flat, she stopped at the liquor store and bought the usual bottle of whiskey he would expect, making sure to not let the clerk see her bruises. As she walked down the road again, she likened herself to a soldier going into battle; only she knew that she would lose the war before it even began...

The TV was blasting when she opened the door to the flat. Shutting it quietly so as not to disturb his program, she tiptoed back behind his chair.

"Where were you?" Justin barked from his chair, causing her to jump. He stood to his feet and took a swing from the bottle in his hand, staring at her.

"I was just getting some whiskey for you." She held up the bag with the bottle. He laughed softly, walking toward her and grabbing the bag roughly.

"Good girl," he praised, making her cringe. "You know just how to make up for your mistakes." He set the bottle he was drinking from down, and opened the new one, taking a swing. "My dinner was late," he said after a few seconds of tense silence.

"It was just by 20 minutes-"

"It was still late!" Justin shouted, hitting the table with his fist. She jumped and bit her lip.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, looking down to the floor.

"Of course you're sorry, you're always sorry!" He threw the almost finished bottle of whiskey against the wall and it shattered with a loud crash that made her ears ring. "You're so stupid, you know that?!" She felt herself cower.

"I know I am-"

"No, I don't think you do." Justin said as he stalked up close to her and started to circle her, like a lion stalking his prey. "You're dumb as a brick." He spat on her cheek and she whimpered, wiping at her face. "Don't know why I keep you around…" he grumbled, walking past her to pick back up the bottle to take a swing. "You thinking about leaving?" he barked.

"No, I would never-" she started, but her words failed as he grabbed her hair, jerking her head back. She whined as her scalp began to burn

"Liar," he hissed in her face, the smell of whiskey strong on his breath. "You better listen to me: you're not leaving me because I own you. You know how much I own you? Why don't you tell me your name?" he asked her in a mocking tone and she swallowed.

"Bitch," she whispered, the sob that she was trying to hold back escaping from her throat.

"That's right." He opened the door and dragged her outside, throwing her on the hard concrete. She landed on her bruised ribs and held back a scream of pain. "And that's all you'll ever be!" He spat on her again and slammed the door. She sobbed into the ground, both from pain in her physical body and of utter humiliation at sleeping outside for the third time in a week. With the strength she had left, she dragged herself toward the corner where she hid her thin blanket and pulled it out, haphazardly laying it over herself in an attempt to cover her against the night wind.

"Why doesn't he just kill me?" she whispered, sobbing at her own question. Shivering, she huddled in a small ball and willed herself to just die. No one would miss me anyway, she thought to herself as she fell into a fitful sleep.

NOTE: Sooooo I like the character of Anthea. So much mystery surrounding this beautiful woman. Thought I'd try my hand at giving her a story of how she became Mycroft's personal assistant. It shouldn't be too long, a couple of chapters or so; I thank you for any feedback!

GW