John had always been a dreamer. He had seen things that other people didn't. But over the years he had learnt to keep his mouth shut as his father didn't approve, to say the least. Instead he had written it down. He had kept a journal of the wonders he saw. Every single strange happening he witnessed he had scribbled down in a red leather notebook.

And then his Father had found out. It had been as bad as John had worried it would be. He had come home to complete silence. Shouting out a greeting in the empty seeming house he had walked in to the living room to find his family sitting on the cheap sofas. Harry's face had been buried in Mums chest and Mums eyes were red and puffy, she had obviously been crying again. His father was obviously drunk, his eyes were bloodshot and he had slurred as he spoke; "John". That's when John had seen his journal open on the table. The only thought that had entered his head had been, 'Oh God.'

At first his father had been quiet, slowly and dangerously asking him about the journal. When his father had asked him about what was written, John had stupidly shaken his head not being able to find the words. That's when the shouting had started. His father had stood up and began yelling insults at John at the top of his voice. He had sprayed spit over John as he raved on and on, his eyes wide and crazed. John had just stood there, trying not to make it worse. Then Harry had started to cry and John had become angry. He had always been extremely protective of his little sister, especially since his father started hitting Mum. Politely, he had asked his father to calm down as he was scaring Harry. That's when his father hit him. He punched John hard on the right side of his face, knocking him down. He had then kicked John while his Mum screamed for him to stop and Harry just cried. spat on John and left, slamming the door behind him. They all knew he was headed to the pub to drink away the small amount of money they had.

John had stumbled up and looked at his Mum, sobbing her eyes out, terrified. "I have to go. I can't stay here," he had said. He had taken the small amount of cash he had in his room and grabbed his coat and his warmest beige jumper. He had crossed the room to where his sister was crying, kissed her on the forehead, nodded goodbye to his mother and left the grotty, run-down council home forever. It had felt strange, closing the door behind him. He had grown up in that house and deep inside he knew he wouldn't ever be coming back. Wrapping his coat around him he had walked off into the night.

It had been around 8:00 when he left. It was now around 1:00 and he was still walking. He had caught the tube, taking it into central London and had spent the rest of the time walking, trying to figure out where the hell to go. The light of a street lamp let him see the sign at the corner. Baker Street. John had no idea where he was. Lost. He leant against a wall and slid down it. He would sleep here tonight and make decisions tomorrow. It was cold, freezing cold and he was tired. His face hurt where his father had punched him as well as his chest aching where he had been kicked. He pulled his coat around him, to protect him from the cold. It was fur-lined and smelt of a mixture of his aftershave and the washing powder his mum used. It smelt like home. He was so tired. He was slowly drifting off, to sleep.

Notes:

Okay, this is my first fanfic which I hope you like! It will have more Sherlock and Shadowhunters later. Even if you don't know what Shadowhunters are, please keep reading. Johns going to have to find out as well. Please comment, feedback and criticism is welcome :)