Before you read and protest and ask where the canon characters are, be patient; there's a reason why I started the story with original characters. Introducing the canon characters right away is impossible for this story to be told correctly. I have a reason why I didn't start with Sherlock and all of them.

And while there isn't a prominent canon character present yet(nonetheless there is one in this chapter so there you go), I promise you I labored over this chapter.

Anyways, enjoy!

Disclaimer: I don't own BBC's Sherlock. Otherwise, I would've written an alternate ending to Series 2. Or at least showed the resolution to his tragic 'suicide.' ;P But Moffat and the team have done a great job with the show.

Chapter One: Recollection

The cool sterile atmosphere and the steady beeping of a heart monitor were the first things that came to mind. Hospital. I was in the hospital. Brilliant.

As I gained consciousness, I painfully became aware of a tight cast completely wrapping my right arm and a stinging IV shoved in above my wrist. My head rested on a small pillow, and my body lay in a reclined position. A ridiculously thin hospital gown and an equally thread-like sheet draped up to my chest inadequately protected me from the freezing air. But my right hand was warm because my fingers intertwined with another hand. Someone's hand.

But afraid of the uncertainty, I dared not to open my eyes and remained still because I would have to deal with whatever happened next. And there I was, feeling like a vegetable with no idea of what'd just happened the past few hours. Or days. Or weeks. Time didn't matter to me at the moment.

Yet I knew I couldn't lay there forever.

So I twitched my left hand and then shifted the rest of my arm, rustling the bed sheets in the process. As a result, I heard creaking chairs, a soft gasp from my left and shuffles on my right. The hand in my right one squeezed.

"Alex?" The voice belonged to a man—with a British accent. Odd.

"Did…did she just move?" The second speaker was a female with an American accent I noticed.

The first person spoke again, a little stronger. "Alex, you awake?"

In answer, I cracked one eye open then the other, seeing a plaster ceiling and a fluorescent light above me. I tried to lick my chapped lips but found my tongue parched as well.

Two faces immediately hovered over mine as if reading me excitedly. On the left, a lightly tanned woman with grey eyes and black hair and on the right, a pale-faced man with cerulean blue eyes and light brunette hair. As soon as we made eye contact, the woman emitted another relieved gasp and collapsed back while the man silently sighed and broke into a genuine smile, surprising me by leaning forward and planting a kiss on my forehead. Whoa.

"Oh, thank God," he whispered as he leaned his forehead against mine, our noses touching. "You scared me to death."

The room temperature suddenly rose 20 degrees. Goosebumps riddled my arms and legs, and heat rushed to my face. Just who was this dude? Definitely not my older brother.

When he finally scooted back to give me space, I got a better look at him. He was a considerably young man with an average build, but his face bore creases and a permanent sort of frown. But as soon as his gaze fell on me again, his expression turned into that of wistfulness and relief. He wore a dress shirt and pants, but his appearance was disheveled as if he had rushed in, his sleeves rolled up and his tie loose.

"Wha…" my throat croaked.

The black-haired woman hushed me, but she was unable to contain the immense delight in her voice. "It's all right, Alex. Just relax. I rang in the doctor so he'll coming in real soon to check on you, 'kay?"

She was young too. Her thin hair was cropped to her shoulders, and her face was chiseled in a triangular shape. Even though she had a small body structure, she didn't look like an anorexic or bulimic. She wore a knee-length jean skirt and a brown hooded sweater over a light green blouse.

"I'm thirsty," I managed to say.

"Okay," she nodded before turning to the other. "Why don't you go and ask for some ice chips."

The brunette was all too eager to help. "All right." He rose from his seat and quietly exited the room but not without leaving another kiss on my knuckle. It sent shivers down my spine. Pleasant or not, I wasn't sure.

As soon as he was gone, I sent a grateful smile to the woman. "Thanks."

But instead of returning the favor, she deeply frowned and flicked my ear. Not the reaction I was expecting. "Don't you ever…ever do that again, Alex Traherne! You nearly gave me a heart attack when they called me!"

"I—I'm sorry," I stuttered, gingerly rubbing my sore ear lobe. That had snapped me wide awake. "I didn't mean to…"

"You'd better be sorry," she drawled in an 'obviously' tone. "Umbrella Man isn't gonna be happy—"

"Where am I?"

"St. Bartholomew's Hospital," she replied before rambling off. I didn't pay attention to whatever she said next.

St. Bartholomew's Hospital. The name struck me as familiar but foreign at the same time since I came from a small town of at least 7000 people. And my town hospital's name was not St. Bartholomew's. I glanced at the woman again. How did she and the other guy know me? Why are they here and not my parents? That meant something was wrong with this picture. I knew it.

I cut her off again. "Do I know you? I mean where's…"

"Excuse me?" She said, deadpanned. My question must've scared her completely. Or set her off really bad.

"I'm sorry, it's just…where are my parents? I thought they knew—"

"What's your name?" There was a slight panic in her voice.

"Alex Traherne," I said warily. Of course, I knew my name ignoring that she had addressed me a minute ago.

"What year is it?"

"…2012, last time I checked."

Something like shock flashed in her eyes as if I had said the wrong answer, but she pressed on. "What are your parents' names?"

That one came easy. "Thomas and Donna Traherne."

But again, did I give the wrong answer? She wasn't looking peachy. "Siblings."

"Three brothers, one sister."

"Friends."

"Ah, you and…the other dude that just left?"

A sharp gasp escaped her lips as she collapsed back into her seat, her focus on the floor as if her mind raced with thoughts. A second later, she stared me down hard. "Your code. What's your code?"

"E—excuse me?"

"I said your code. What's your code?" she hissed with urgency as if my life depended on it.

What was she talking about? Was I some special robot or secret agent? Though I would've preferred the second guess. I slowly shook my head. "No, I—I don't know. What's that gotta do with…"

My answer seemed to hit her like a ton of bricks as she sunk into her seat again. "You don't…that…that can't happen…" And she began to mutter to herself rather vehemently, her hands grabbing the sides of her chair in a death grip. Her gaze returned to me. "Fine, what's my name then?" she demanded.

"I'm sorry!" I shot back but immediately regretted it. "I don't…I'm sorry." I felt bad because here I was immensely frustrating her because—

I stopped short and silently gasped. Amnesia. She thought I had amnesia; she recognized me, but reacted to my answers, answers that didn't make sense to her. No, I didn't have amnesia. Of course not. Why would I?

But not wanting to muse over my present troubles, I dismissed my thoughts and took a glance around my room. It was small and mediocre, the typical recovery premises in a hospital. A white oak door on the left leading to the hallway, a window on the right with outdated blinders, a white-tiled floor that reflected the banal ceiling, two black metal chairs on either side of my bed, a hanging IV bag and a heart monitor on my right, and a nightstand on my left.

The silence in the room was broken when a middle-aged man (followed by the one who had kissed me) opened the door. My guy friend wordlessly placed a cup of thin ice cubes on the nightstand and made his way around the bed to return to his seat, taking my hand in his larger ones and sending me a reassuring smile.

The stethoscope draped around the older man's neck, a clipboard tucked under his arm, and a name tag that read 'William Soren, M.D.' gave way that he was a doctor. His hair was a pepper color, his eyes were a warm chocolate-brown, and his face albeit worn from stress as a medical man had a soft countenance. I did a double take. Was it me or did he remind me of David Tennant?

"I see you're awake, young lady. I'm Doctor Soren," he said with a professional smile and a British accent. I'm coincidentally meeting a lot of Brit people, aren't I? "Is it a habit for Americans to run into chaotic intersections?"

Everyone else except the troubled female on my left chuckled.

"No, sir," I replied after finishing my laugh. "But idiots do." At the doctor's raised eyebrow, I resignedly sighed. "And I'm one of those idiots, aren't I?"

It was his turn to chortle as he checked my vitals and the heart monitor. "I thought so. You name is Alex Traherne, is it? Your boyfriend told me you were awake."

"Boyfriend?" I dared not to glance askance to my right.

"Do you remember what year it is?"

I hesitated here again. What was the doctor going to think? "2012."

But instead of balking, he hummed and scribbled a few notes on his clipboard. How he addressed me the rest of the time showed a cautious approach to something he knew was wrong. "Uh-huh. How old are you?"

"Um, eighteen?"

"What?" That had definitely got my "boyfriend's" attention. I'd failed to notice his surprise when I was confused about said boyfriend, but I saw that declaring my age appalled him.

Soren ignored the younger man and continued with the questions, scratching notes as he spoke. "Are you suffering from any headache or dizziness at the moment?"

"No," I answered.

"So how are you feeling?"

"Hungry, sir."

He paused as he finished writing. "Now," he turned his attention to my distressed female acquaintance who took to the comfort of watching the doctor, "would you like to ask your best friend some questions?"

"Already have." My "best friend" glanced at me with a blank expression before politely focusing on Dr. Soren. "I think I'd like to have a word with you." She looked at my shell-shocked…boyfriend. I shuddered. It was strange calling a man you just met minutes ago your "boyfriend." "Tim, you come along too."

Tim (as he was called?) was searching my face for any sign of recognition. "No, that…" His elated look had changed into one of disbelief, his eyes darting between me and Dr. Soren. His desperation was guilt-ridding me, and I wondered if I could do anything to console him. I hated hurting any guy's feelings…well, most of them anyways.

"Alex, w—what are you saying?" he stammered. "Do you not remember—"

"Come on, Romeo," my black-haired friend said curtly. She and the other man were waiting at the door. "You can dote on her afterwards."

Though reluctant to leave me again, Tim sent me a longing look before releasing his grip and following the two out, the door swinging closed behind them and leaving me in the quiet again.

Sooner or later, I would have to face whatever this reality was. And the thought frightened me. What happens next? Uncertainty built up inside me when I didn't receive an answer. I didn't want think about it but rather focus on the fact that was I awake. I was awake, right?

I pinched my leg. Ow. That hurt so I really was conscious. This wasn't a dream. No, but this had to be a dream. Because if this wasn't a dream, then what I knew before (my parents, my siblings, my friends, my life) from…the other reality was the dream. My left arm draped over my eyelids as I willed myself not to cry, a shaky breath escaping me and tears prickling in the corners of my eyes. Rationalizing everything only made a whirl of emotions coarse inside my guts; nothing made sense…so far.

But I had yet to ask of their accounts, who they were and how they knew who I was. And if they knew anything about that night. Because all I remembered was that I was suicidal in the middle of traffic…no, that wasn't all. Before that, I was driving with someone. The best friend I knew. I was taking her home until—

The lights. The headlights and the horn of a semi-truck. It was the beginning of a head-on collision until I found myself standing in a street. A car accident, and responsible for another life. My best friend. Where was my best friend? Oh, man was I ever going to be in deep trouble. But no one ever mentioned a car accident or another person with me.

What had I gotten myself into?

After what felt like an eternity of silence, the door swung open, and my two acquaintances stepped in followed by a serious-faced doctor. I hastily rubbed my eyes. The sulking woman slouched as she returned to her seat, crossing her arms and staring pointedly at me. That annoyed me greatly. Tim was a different story; he refused to make eye contact with me as he crossed the room and took his place in his chair, his face was of complete devastation.

I copied my first friend's movements as best I could but winced when pain shot through my right arm. "All right, could someone explain to me what's going on?" I cut off Soren before he could open his mouth. "And don't sugarcoat it either. My brain's fine." Partially. "First off, you," I snapped my head at the woman next to me. "What's your name so I don't have to call you just 'best friend'?" Then I added as an afterthought, "Not that I don't like you."

"Robyn Lawrence," she answered shortly. "And since you want it cut and dry, you have amnesia, or you're really bipolar, or you're playing a really cruel prank on us."

I scowled even more. "Okay, one, I do not have amnesia. Two, I am not bipolar. And three, why would I play a prank on you guys by risking my life?"

"Mad," she laughed humorlessly, gesturing to me with emphasis. "She's gone mad. I don't know how I'm going to deal with this—"

"Robyn, please," Tim moaned, his hands wearily rubbing his face. "Just shut up. This isn't going to help with her memory loss."

"Well, then I would love to hear your suggestion because I honestly don't know if I can handle this!"

"Miss Lawrence and Mr. Dimmock, would you two please compose yourselves?" Soren ordered harshly. "I don't feel the need to supervise three patients, one of amnesia and two of insanity. And I am not about to babysit immature grownups."

I was mildly surprised at the doctor's treatment of my two acquaintances but had me wondering if he knew them or even me personally. I brushed off the idea. As for the other two, I let them lament their loss for now; their impatience and dramatic responses made me lose my empathy for them, and maybe it was the same for Soren. From what I've heard, full-time medical people didn't have much of a social life. Then again, I could be wrong.

"Okay, doc, what have I got?" I asked in a bored tone, wanting to hear the actual diagnosis from someone experienced.

"Officially, you have retrograde amnesia," he answered. "But judging by your answers, I'd like to think you have…selective retrograde amnesia."

"And what is that supposed to mean?"

"Retrograde amnesia is basically amnesia that causes patients to lose the ability to recall past events or memories. In most cases, recent past events."

Sensing an incomplete statement, I urged him, "But…"

"From what your friend's told me, you've completely forgotten your past like family, friends," he glanced at Robyn with a questioning look, "and et cetera. Not only that, you've replaced it with different…information." He had difficulty finding the correct word.

I thought it over. His analysis did make sense, shedding some light on Robyn and Tim's distress. No wonder it sounded like I was lying to them. "Are you certain you have the right person? Because I might be their friend's doppelgänger," I said. Or the girl's long-lost twin. Unintentionally evil twin.

"No, you're Alex Traherne, young lady. You said so yourself, and I have your medical records."

"Well, I could be somebody else with the same name coincidently."

The doctor furrowed his eyebrows. "And for someone who's suffered memory loss, you don't act like you do. For one, you didn't suffer any head trauma, no concussion or any injury of such. And your amnesia wasn't caused by any premedicant."

I stared at Soren. Was he even listening to me? "Please don't tell me you think I'm lying through my teeth just for the fun of it."

"I'm telling you I'm not," he insisted. "The fact you recognized me (or rather watched me peculiarly) and not your boyfriend or your best friend is proof too."

"So I'm not supposed to know you," I said skeptically. "Prove it."

"Alex, I know amnesia when I see it. Yours is just…unusual."

"Right," I huffed, blowing at my bangs. "Let me get this straight: so I have amnesia, but it's a special case."

He beamed from ear to ear, too much like the Tenth Doctor in all his wacky glory. "Precisely."

I rolled my eyes. At least, he somewhat understood what I was thinking even if in the slightest; he was trained to be familiar with the symptoms of memory loss.

My next challenge was dealing with the two bewailing in their little worlds. Had I not been the cause of their misery, I would've found their current behavior rather comical than heart-wrenching. Though past the point of shock, Robyn looked as if she was ready to explode out of her mind from trying to work out my predicament in her head. She was sitting on the edge of her chair, biting a fingernail and apprehensively bouncing her legs on her toes. Not really lady-like. And poor Tim. It was like he had learned of my inevitable death by terminal cancer. I shrugged it off. Clichéd TV drama moment.

Dr. Soren guffawed at the state of my friends. "She's not dying, you know. She's perfectly fine; vitals are splendid, blood levels stable, and she'll recover in a day. You have nothing to worry about."

Other than her obvious amnesia, I mentally finished his sentence.

Robyn glowered at him. "So how long will it take for her to recover her memories? A few days? Weeks?"

The doctor gave a slight wave of the hand. "It depends on time and the severity of the damage. The longest time might be months." He smiled sympathetically and clasped a hand on her shoulder when she heavily sighed in disappointment. "I'm so sorry. Only time will tell what happens next."

I opened my mouth to protest but then clamped it shut. Anything else I would say next would be taken as the words of a confused amnesic. Not a person with mistaken identity. No matter how much I would try to explain, I understood that they wouldn't be able to comprehend what I knew. And I wasn't in the mood to complicate things as they already were, but I promised myself to clarify matters later…at the right time. So I said nothing, letting the people present proceed.

Robyn sighed once again. She was defeated enough as she was. "Okay, what's next? Does she start treatment or therapy—"

"Therapy?" I said stupidly.

"Well, you can try to ask easier questions today," Soren advised. "After you get her home, you can delve in deeper. "She's still in shock—"

"I am not in shock!" I thought that was pushing it too much.

"Taking in her surroundings," he corrected himself, still addressing Robyn. "So you'll have to be patient, young lady."

I had enough of them disregarding my presence. "So we can start by telling me what happened last night or whenever," I growled then I looked at the black-haired woman. "I'm not fragile or sick so stop acting like you're about to lose it."

Robyn started, clearly frustrated with me. "You just randomly ran into the middle of the street. What were you thinking, Alex?"

"Lost and going insane 'cause of voices in my head," I said flatly. I suddenly checked myself. "Okay, I can say you're right about me going mad."

"You remember exactly what happened?" Soren asked.

I wavered. "No, not really." I wasn't about to tell them about me driving with someone right before a possible head-on collision.

The doctor drew closer to my bedside. "According to reports, you were hyperventilating, complaining of head pain, and losing blood from deep lacerations on your arm though nothing life-threatening. But then eventually you passed out from exhaustion, and remained unconscious for two days. Your arm was the only major concern, but other than minor bruising, you're fine. The only puzzling thing is your memory. If you were listening, Robyn, I mentioned that she had no head injury."

Unfortunately, she didn't find that fact worth noting. "So what? I don't care how or why she forgot everything. That's not a good thing. At all."

"I told you not to worry," he said, placing a hand on Robyn's. "She's fine, and her ailment is likely temporary. And she's definitely not traumatized."

"Obviously." I rolled my eyes.

"So there's nothing else we can do? Just wait and hope she regains her memories?" she groaned.

"With a little prodding," Soren added with emphasis. "But I'm afraid that's all I can do. Call me if you need anything else. I have other patients to attend to." He made his way to the door and opened it halfway. "Oh, and try not to bombard her with too much. Then you'll really upset her." And with that, he slipped outside, the door swinging closed with a soft click.

Another awkward pause ensued with the exception of the heart monitor's steady beep and the low buzz of the air con overhead. Man, it was freezing cold.

Oh, well. Might as well start. "H-hey…Robyn?" I tested the name. "Sorry…about all this happening. I messed things for you and…" I trailed off, unsure of what else to say.

Robyn pinched her nose bridge and propped her elbows on her thighs but remained quiet, avoiding my gaze.

"Robyn," I said sullenly.

Sitting up and looking at me, she put on a weak grin, but her façade still crumbled. "So," she toyed with the hem of her skirt, "um, you wanna know—I mean, remember your history?"

"Yeah, I guess," I said quietly.

Before Robyn could begin, Tim wordlessly rose from his seat and headed towards the door, his head hanging and hands shoved into his pockets. I'd almost forgotten he was there. His hand was on the door handle. "Call me later," he said without glancing in our direction. "And let me know how she's doing. I'll be heading back to work." He shut the door behind him.

There was a moment of silence before I said anything. "Hang on, why isn't he staying?"

Robyn took in a sharp breath and cleared her throat. "He needs to…adjust to your condition."

"Okay? First off," my eyes lingered on the door before turning to Robyn, "that was my boyfriend?"

"Is your boyfriend," she corrected me, chuckling lightly. "Timothy Dimmock, Detective Inspector of the Scotland Yard. We met him at a police conference about a business scandal and actually helped him on the case. After that, you started going out with him. Funny, and you swore that you'd never date." She put on a concerned face at my dubious one. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." But I was dumbstruck, flabbergasted. That fact was still over my head. "I'm just…I'm going out…I'm going out with somebody."

"Obviously," Robyn grinned, rolling her eyes. "I wondered what you saw in him."

"So do I," I murmured absently.

We both looked at each other…and burst out laughing. Eventually, I had to stop when shifting jolted pain through my injured arm, but that didn't remove the grin from my lips. At least, neither of us was sending hostile messages to each other, and it was best that we didn't start that way either. But I decided to keep my guard up; I didn't want to lose any spark of trust from her. Yet I wasn't expecting Robyn to accept my condition right away in the first place. Or my unusual behavior for that matter. If I was stuck in this place, I might as well go with the motion. And if I had a life established already, I determined myself not to blunder any established detail.

"But really, what did I see in that guy?"

Robyn broke down into more giggles. "I told you I don't know. You're the one dating him."

I sucked in my lower lip, fighting back another snort. "Guess I'll have to find out?"

"Yeah, guess so—" she balked and stared at me suspiciously. "Hang on, are you—"

"Just ignore me. I…I'm just trying to adjust to this."

She didn't look convinced. "Right."

"Just work with me here, please. If I were lying to you, I would've admitted it to you ten minutes ago. I can't hold a bluff for more than two minutes. And would the Alex you know lie to you? Was she good at bluffing?"

"Expert," Robyn replied seriously. "And I say you're still good at it too, Alex."

I grew irritated. Okay, that wasn't good. "Well, then you're wrong, Robyn. And I'll give you proof. Who's David Tennant?"

"Who?"

"See? You don't know who he is. Welsh-born British actor."

Robyn still wasn't convinced. "So what? I don't randomly stalk a man named David Tenwhatever just because he's an actor. And I certainly don't bother with show biz. For all I know, you're playing a really good bluff, or you're really going mad."

I growled. That didn't work. What else could I use as an example? "I'm serious. I really don't know you or that guy that just walked out or anything. Whether you believe me or not, just tell me what I need to know."

"And how is that going to help?" she laughed mirthlessly. "It's just making me look stupid, telling you what you know already."

I was getting ticked that she wasn't exactly encouraging, but her stubbornness showed that nothing of my character was…uncharacteristic to her. In her opinion, I was sharing this Alex's same face, same voice, and probably same personality with a heavy dose of amnesia. That wasn't promising. But then I thought of my supposed boyfriend. His opinion might be different.

"Please, just tell me," I said, trying to keep my rising anger in check. "What did I get wrong?"

She remained silent for a moment, her gaze scrutinizing me for any hesitation or fault. "One, you don't have any living family members." She continued at my questioning look. "In fact, you never knew them. My family adopted you, and we became inseparable sisters. You heard that we're best friends already."

I felt queasy in the pit of my stomach, an ache growing in my throat. "What do you mean I don't have any family? They were at home—"

"No, Alex." She rested a hand on my left arm as if to settle me down. "We don't even know what their first names were. All we had was a last name. And siblings, how did you come up with that?"

"Of course I didn't make that up," I replied, incredulous. In my mind, my family was home (except for my oldest brother in college). But before the drive… "Do you recall me driving you home last night or two days ago or whenever?"

"No," Robyn arched an eyebrow and shook her head. "We were at the Criterion, sipping coffee and writing essays for college."

Now it was my turn to be confused. "What? But we had a movie night at my house, remember? With Jojo and Micah and the rest of them?"

She shook her head again.

"You serious?"

"What on earth are you talking about?"

"Uh, what I remember?"

"Why are you asking me?"

"You asked me if I remembered anything."

"No, I wasn't! And that's not what happened at all!"

"In my head, it did!"

"Whatever happened in your head didn't happen in real life! Thus you do have amnesia."

"No, I don't!"

"Yes, you do!"

"Nuh-uh!"

"Uh-huh!"

"No!"

"Ugh!" She threw up her hands, exasperated. "Some things don't change at all! You're irritating as ever when it comes to fighting."

I smirked in satisfaction. I had to agree with her; my best friend (the one I knew) and I had our arguments too, and this one was no different. "Is that a good thing?" I asked curiously, sitting up. I waved a hand when she moved to push me back. "No, I'm fine really. Just go on and tell me...whatever."

"You sure?" she asked uncertainly. "Might be too much for you."

"I'm fine."

She snorted. "True, you do have too much energy for having amnesia…or you're really bipolar."

"Anywaaays…"

"How old did you say you were?" she asked, back to serious mode.

"Eighteen," I said.

"And what year is it?"

"2012."

"No."

"What?"

"You're not eighteen," she said. "You're a twenty-four year old studying Renaissance English Literature as a foreign transfer student. Same with me. Except I'm twenty-three."

That took me a minute to say anything at all. "You're kidding me, right?" I laughed nervously. I was an old woman already?

"And this isn't 2012. It's 2011."

I balked, deadpanned. "What?" There was no way my age and the date had changed. "Hang on, did you say foreign transfer student? What do you mean—" No, there was no way. It couldn't be. "Where is here?"

"St. Bartholomew's—"

"No, I know that, but what country?"

"England."

My heart stopped for the third time that day. There was just no end to life's surprises, huh? "WHAT?"

Robyn pressed a button on a remote near my bed, never taking her eyes off of me. "Doctor, could you get back in here now?"

Spoilers for the next chapter: Alex dealing with the mysterious 'code' and learning of her head boss - Just who is the Umbrella Man? ;)

Reviews are deeply appreciated. Thanks.