Author's Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing! Here we go again…
It didn't take long for Sherlock to sort through the simple clues, once he gained his focus. He had some suspicions throughout the investigation, thinking the trail Moriarty left was much too easy to follow. In addition to sending notes with obvious clues, he'd also left physical evidence on every letter he sent. Was Moriarty slipping? Was he not the great criminal Sherlock had once come so close to failing against? Or was something deeper about to happen?
41 hours later Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, Greg Lestrade, young Johnny and many of Scotland Yard's finest arrived at a darkened, abandoned warehouse somewhere in the outskirts of London. They broke down a huge garage door, and found a dark haired girl in a tattered blue dress tied up on the floor. Her eyes were red and swollen from crying. The ropes that bond her hands had caused terrible markings to form on her skin as she tried to work the twine off her arms. Blood dripped from a gash on her forehead. She looked up. Johnny started to run toward her, Sherlock and John grabbed his arms to restrain him. He fought hard, screaming violently, "Charlotte!" Detective Inspector Lestrade approached her first, but by the time he reached her, she'd fallen unconscious, clearly drugged.
The girl awoke the next morning on a hospital cot. Sherlock and John stood over her bedside. Sherlock leaned in to hug her with tears in his eyes. He whispered, "My Charlotte…" She blinked, confused for a moment. Her name wasn't Charlotte. She had almost forgotten her mission, but then she remembered. She was Asil Moriarty, but now she had to take on the role of her twin sister, Charlotte Watson-Holmes.
As soon as they arrived home at Baker Street a constant flow of visitors came through the door to welcome back the great detective's daughter. After Asil was done greeting and hugging what felt like three hundred people, Sherlock suggested, "Charlotte, you should go to your room and rest." Asil liked the idea of having some time alone, because pretending to be her sister was already proving to be difficult. John walked with Asil to Charlotte's room. When they reached their destination, he turned to leave.
"I'm really glad you're home Charlotte. The flat was very empty without you and Sherlock was a mess. Who am I kidding? I was a mess too! Well if you need anything Charlotte, we're right here," the doctor murmured as he pulled the door shut.
Asil stood alone in her twin sister's room. She looked around, unable to comprehend the overwhelming tremble rushing through her body. She was angry. This could have been her life. This flat, this room, this bed, this family, this dog, … it could have all been hers. She picked a picture frame up off the dresser. John and Sherlock were smiling proudly from underneath the glass, standing behind a young Charlotte as she held up her new puppy. The wrinkled dog's dark little nose and tiny black eyes ripped at Asil's heart. She set the picture down and held up another. In this photo, Charlotte and John stood with a thin redheaded boy. They were opening Christmas presents. Why wasn't she in this photo? Why had Moriarty taken this life from her?
At first, Asil didn't understand the factors that had initiated her change of heart. Then it set it. She knew exactly why she felt this way:
It was Sherlock and John embracing her after she was "rescued", so happy to see their little girl again. It was the excited little bulldog, jumping up in her lap and licking her face. It was Mrs. Hudson bringing her a red velvet "welcome home" cake, Charlotte's favorite flavor. It was Uncle Mycroft stopping by to give a gift, another umbrella, to his beloved niece. It was Charlotte's white-haired music instructor, handing her a brooch shaped like a little French horn. It was Molly reminding her, "If you ever need to talk about girl stuff, I'm here." It was Charlotte's dearest friend Johnny, sharing his first kiss with the wrong girl. It was the love, something she'd always lacked in her relationship with Uncle Moriarty.
Asil fell to the floor on her knees with tears rushing down her cheeks. Hearing her whimpering, John and Sherlock came rushing in to aid her, causing her to go into a greater fit of sentiment. They care about their daughter so much, she thought. They sprinted to Asil's side, kneeling next to her with looks of utter despair. They're so gloomy, just because they think their daughter is miserable. I just want to tell them. I can't do this… I'm NOT CHARLOTTE. I'm not your little girl! I'm the worst person you'll ever meet, and I've been sent to kill you. I was made to destroy you. Let me cry; oh please just let my cry. John took Asil's left hand and Sherlock took her right hand. "We love you and everything is going to be okay. He can't hurt you anymore," Sherlock whispered as he ran his rings through her dark curls. The affection from Charlotte's loving father was practically killing Asil; it caused a horde of tears to fall even faster down her already soaked cheeks.
The next morning Asil awoke neatly tucked into Charlotte's bed. All she could remember from the night before was Sherlock and John holding her close as she cried, but her tears had blurred her vision. Or had the tears cleared it? She felt like crying again. She couldn't, because all of her tears had simply vanished.