Hello, apologies for the wait. Just started college. ALSO I would like to acknowledge that I messed up. I think it was last chapter that a guest replied and told me that the song Sherlock was playing was "Long Live the Queen" and also I was thinking of "My Country Tis of Thee" not "Star Spangled Banner." For starters, I'm not British. I don't know "Long Live the Queen" at all. Second of all, I'm terrible at identify non-lyrical music anyway. Hell, even lyrical music sometimes. However, I apologize for the mistake. Thank you for reading!

Chapter 25

We stood outside that night as the police took the American to the hospital. No one quite believed what they were seeing. Especially Lestrade, who stood with Sherlock and me.

"And exactly how many times did he fall out of the window?"

"It's all a bit of a blur, Detective Inspector… I lost count." Sherlock looked at the man in a way that would have scared anyone. They showed the reason that psychopaths and sociopaths were often confused with each other.

"Alright then…" Lestrade mumbled, walking off.

"Happy New Year." I told him, a smile on my face before I went inside. In the kitchen sat John and Mrs. Hudson.

"She'll have to sleep upstairs in out flat tonight."

"No…" she grumbled.

"She's fine." Sherlock assured John.

"No, she's not. Look at her. She's got to take some time away from Baker Street. She can go and stay with her sister, Doctor's orders."

"Don't be absurd."

"She's in shock, for God's sake, and all over some stupid camera phone. Where is it, anyway?"

"Safest place I know."

Mrs. Hudson reached into her shirt and pulled it out, saying, "You left it in the pocket of your second-best dressing gown, you clot! I managed to sneak it out when they thought I was having a cry."

"Thank you. Shame on you, John Watson."

"Shame on me?"

"Mrs. Hudson leave Baker Street? England would fall." Sherlock put an arm over the old woman's shoulders, bringing her in for a slight hug. Feeling more at ease, the woman gave out a laugh.

With such a happy atmosphere, I let out a snicker myself before turning towards the door. "Well, I for one have had quite the eventful day. I think I'll retire for the night."

"Right. Sweet dreams, Alice." John told me.

"Goodnight." Sherlock and Mrs. Hudson said together.

I nodded. "Night. Happy New Year."

XXX

The next day, while Sherlock had the phone X-rayed, Uncle John took me to see Dr. Abigail Spencer. We had called that morning to make sure that there was a spot open, and she assured us that she had a spot open at two. It seemed that she had been expecting the call for some time.

At the office, I saw four other kids. The one who had just finished his session had autism, another seemed to have deep-seeded anger towards his parents, and the other was a small girl who just sat on the floor quietly between my feet and the woman she was with.

"Are you her mom?" I asked the woman, who shook her head.

"Social worker."

"Alcohol, physical, or…?" I couldn't find the strength to say the last possibility. However, having been in the system, I knew that sexual abuse was also an option, despite the girl's age.

"Child trafficking, so she's had a bit of everything."

My heart broke for the girl. She couldn't be more than seven, and even then she looked only four or five because of how small she was.

"Can I talk to her?" I asked quietly.

"You can try." She told me nicely.

"Alice…?" Uncle John muttered, but he seemed mostly confused.

Carefully, I kneeled down next to the girl. She glanced up at me briefly, showing me her ice blue eyes, sapphire circling the iris.

"Hi, sweety. What's your name?"

She didn't answer. She just kept playing with the doll in her hands. It was small, no bigger than the span between Uncle John's thumb and index finger.

"That's a cute doll. What's her name?"

"Hope."

Her words struck me like a slap across the face. I clenched my teeth for a moment, holding back the tears.

"That's a pretty name. What does she call you?"

"Tammy."

"Yeah? Is that your name?" When she nodded, I continued by saying, "That's a beautiful name. Tammy, how long have you had Hope?"

"Since I was little. If I was good, they'd let me keep her and my light."

"Tammy Smith?" someone called.

"Come on, hon." The social worker urged her up.

"It was nice to meet you." Tammy told me. "What's your name?"

"Alice." I answered her. "My name's Alice."

"That's a nice name. I hope to see you again, Alice."

"I hope to see you again, too. Want me to walk with you to your…um… helper?"

"My therapist?"

I nodded. "Yeah. Her."

She shook her head. "I'll be fine with Maggie. I'll see you again."

I nodded. "Bye."

"Bye." She took Maggie's hand, walking toward the receptionist who led her back to one of the therapists.

When the receptionist came back, she called for the boy and me. Uncle John was about to come with, but the woman said that he was supposed to come back after the first portion. After assuring him I'd be fine, he went back to the waiting room.

In the office, a woman in her mid-thirties sat with a notebook. She was somewhat plump, but she carried it well so you didn't really notice. Her hair was a dull shade of brown, but her eyes were a bright, if not tired, green.

"Hi, Alice. I'm Abby. It's nice to meet you."

"It's nice to meet you, too." I told her, though not as excitedly. She seemed used to it, though.

"Alright. Well, how this first visit works is I'm going to ask you a series of questions. Since it's been a few months, I'm going to guess that you're not too bad at the moment. However, if I begin to trigger anything, just tell me."

"What, like seeing the same blood splatter for a moment every time I look in my reflection or at my body?"

She seemed shocked at my bluntness, but just ended up writing it in her notebook. "Um, care to explain?"

"His name was Gerard. He, like Jim's other henchmen, were smitten with me. They protected me the best they could, at least some of them. One even knew I had locked myself in the crate, apparently he heard me, but he kept quiet. He even told me to stay safe."

"Hey, let's get back to Gerard, okay? What happened?"

"Earlier that day… he'd been telling me about this idea he'd been playing with. He said he wanted to steal me away. He said that as soon as he had some higher ranking in the criminal sphere he would. He said I was like a sister to him already. Jim… he lost it… I begged him not to, but he… he shot Gerard." I began to shake ever so slightly. I hadn't thought about the situation fully for a while. I had blocked it out.

"Hey, hey, let's talk about something else. Do you have any pets?"

I shook my head. "Sherlock and John aren't the pet types. Neither am I, really. I mean, I like animals, but…"

"I see. And your favorite color?"

"Purple. No…" An image of that purple and blue room flashed across my mind. "I-I-I don't know anymore…"

"What happened to purple?"

"That room was purple. I… I don't know. I just…"

"Hey, it's fine. Now, tell me, how did you meet Jim?"

"He was carrying a stack of books and I accidently ran into him. I helped him carry it back to his or someone's apartment and it was… it was all an act. That plan had originally been for someone else close to Sherlock. I was an accident. I shouldn't have met him. But he decided that he liked me when he met me. He didn't even know at that moment… I shouldn't have…"

"Hey, calm down. Calm down."

I shook my head, my whole body shaking. "None of this should have happened. It shouldn't have. It shouldn't…"

"Hey, it's okay. I'm gonna call in John, alright?" She pressed a green button, and within one minute, Uncle John came in.

"God, what happened?"

"I… I'm so sorry. I misread the lack of calls. I assumed it meant she was further along in the healing process and just kind of stuck or her mind didn't heal just right and needed to be pushed in the right direction. However, she's showing signs right now that it's still fresh. I believe that she's just been avoiding it, which is not the proper response. It's like putting off taking care of a wound. It's not healing. It's just putting out more blood."

"Alright. Alright…"

After a few minutes, I had calmed down enough. The receptionist had me wait with the other kids while my therapist talked to John one-on-one about things that worried them both. After a half hour, I was sent back in, all three of us calmed down for the most part.

"Alice, dear." Abby said when I sat down. "After what John and I have discussed, it seems like you've got this thing called post-traumatic stress disorder, or PTSD. Now, based off one session, it's hard to say for sure. If it is, you're currently in a phase where it isn't as bad, but it can flip back to usual in an instant. I believe yours is, for the most part, treatable, but you have to do your best to be open with me, okay?"

I nodded. "Okay."

She smiled. "Good. Why don't you two go schedule another appointment up front?"

"Alright. Thank you, Doctor. Good day." John told her.

"Good day." I repeated.

"Have a lovely rest of your day. I look forward to seeing you again."

XXX

For the rest of the day, I found myself locked in my room and staring at the package on my dresser. I think I'd be better off if I didn't know he was still watching me. It'd be better if he would just leave me alone.

Why can't he just leave me alone?