Alis Harrison was your average every day 18 year old American. Well, actually, she really wasn't. She remembered almost everything that she saw, heard, and learned. In her roommate's mind, she was the perfect assistant for Sherlock Holmes. Ironicall...
I was interrupted from my thoughts by someone urgently knocking on my door. 'Who in God's name is here at this time of night?' I thought as I went to the door. And when I opened it, I saw my brother holding an unconscious Alissa in his arms. "My God. What happened?" I asked. "I'll explain in a minute. Just help me get her inside," said Sherlock. I nodded as I carefully lifted Alissa into my arms and brought her into the sitting room, gently setting her down on the couch. "Don't worry. She's alive. And I can't believe I'm saying this, but thank you for the CPR training," said Sherlock. I'll admit that I felt fairly impressed. "Well done, brother mine. Have you checked for any injuries?" I asked. "Not yet. I needed to make sure that she was out of danger," said Sherlock. "And you knew that taking her to a hospital would put her at risk and there was no way you would be safe at Baker Street, so you came here. Good thinking. But are you sure you trust me to take care of Alissa?" I asked. "Judging by the fact that the two of you seem to be very close, I wouldn't trust anyone else with her life," said Sherlock. I nodded. "The medical kit is on the table," I said. And once my brother gave me everything I needed, I got to work.
When we saw Alissa, my brother and I gasped. She had multiple scratches on her arms, legs, and face. Her back also had large bruises that were obviously inflicted by a whip. "My God," I said. "If I find him again, I am going to make him pay for what he did to her," said Sherlock. But that wasn't all that we found. There was a vial of blood with a note attached to it around her neck:
I took a sample of Alissa's blood and analysed it while she was my prisoner, and I'll admit that I was surprised when I found out who her parents were. But you'll have to find that out for yourselves. Lucky for you, I have attached the exact blood sample to this note. Don't worry, I haven't messed with it or anything. I'm not that cruel. Good luck, boys!
-JM
It was from Moriarty, without a doubt. But why would he want to help Alissa find out the identity of her father? I handed the vial of blood to Sherlock as soon as I finished reading the note. "I trust you can analyse this?" I asked. "Of course. I'll go to St. Barts immediately," Sherlock paused as he took Alissa's hand for a second. "Look after her," he said. "You have my word," I said. And once Sherlock left, I resumed my work on Alissa. Once I finished patching her up, I lifted her into my arms, got her cleaned up, and carried her into the spare bedroom. But I noticed that there was something else around her neck. It was the very same necklace that caught my eye when she met with me about Carl Powers. The date on the front of the necklace, which was June 20, 1990, was what caught my attention, but I didn't know why. But upon further examination, I noticed that there was writing on the back:
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When I read the text, my heart stopped. 'No, it can't be. She's dead. They're both dead,' I thought. Just then, I got a text from my brother:
We have a match. But I suggest that you take a deep breath before reading this. I was pretty shocked myself.
-SH
The next text that followed was a photo of the results. And when I looked at it, I started to feel very lightheaded. 'How is this possible?' I thought. I got another text from Sherlock soon after:
Are you alright?
-SH
How in the world is she still alive? I saw her and her mother being taken with my own eyes.
You were there, too.
-MH
I don't know.
-SH
I feel like I'm going to pass out.
-MH
Breathe, Myc. I'm on my way there now.
-SH
Hurry, please.
-MH
And about a minute later, Sherlock burst into the room and steadied me as my legs collapsed. "Myc, breathe. Focus on me and nothing else," he said. Fortunately, I was able to stabilize myself quickly. "Have you finished tending to her wounds?" he asked. I nodded. "S-she's in the spare bedroom," I stuttered. 'God, I'm a mess,' I thought. "You need to sit down," said Sherlock as he helped me sit down on the couch. "How in God's name am I supposed to tell her, Sherlock? I haven't spoken to her in almost 19 years," I said. "But you have spoken to her. Sure, you didn't know this information about her at the time, but you've still spoken to her. And from what I've seen, you two are already very close. Alissa is one of the few people you actually let your guard down around," Sherlock paused as he took my hand. "But my advice is wait until she's fully recovered. In the meantime, your job is to help her through everything that has happened to her, because she is definitely going to need it. And I'm not saying that it isn't going to be hard for her to adjust when she finds out, because it definitely will be hard. Your job is to make the transition easier for her in every way possible," he said.
Suddenly, I heard a scream coming from the spare bedroom. At that moment, I let go of all my anxieties and ran straight there, where I found Alissa going through a panic attack. I immediately went to her side and took her hand. "Alissa, look at me," I said, not raising my voice. She turned to face me, tears in her eyes. "You're not there anymore. You're with me. You're safe," I paused as I pressed two fingers to the pulsepoint on her neck. "Follow my breathing pattern. In for 4, hold it for 2, out for 6," I said, demonstrating as I talked. It took a while, but Alissa was able to get her breathing to a steady level. I pressed a kiss to the top of her head and was about to leave, but she grabbed my arm. "Stay with me, please. I don't want to be alone," she said. I couldn't refuse. She needed me now, more than ever. I climbed into the bed, pulling Alissa into my arms. I fell asleep almost instantly.
