A bell ringing...Hands squeezing...

Gasping, I sat up in my bed. It took several moments before I realized I was still in my room at 221 Baker Street. I was safe, though still sore and aching from the attack. Taking a deep breath, I swung my feet to the floor. How long had I been sleeping this time?

I smelled tea and decided to find me some. I got to my feet. While I had been put to bed fully clothed, someone had been kind enough to take my shoes off. My clothes were wrinkled beyond recognition, so I slowly changed into something more presentable and with a high neck to hide my lovely bruises.

Opening my door, I stepped out and made my way to the kitchen. A kettle was whistling, though there was no sign of Mrs. Hudson. I poured myself a cup and sat at the table to drink it. I was starving, but my throat hurt so terribly with just tea, I didn't think I could face something solid.

I went over the events of the previous day. I had many questions. Why had William Smith come after me? Was it because I had accused him of being the murderer he was, or was there some other reason behind it? How had he tracked me to this residence?

"Mary!" Mrs. Hudson's exclamation brought me back to the day. She was standing over me, studying me like a nervous and concerned mother hen. "You're finally up! Its nearly eleven now. How are you feeling?"

"I'm... all right," I said, grimacing in pain and at how hoarse I was. I had to swallow hard between every other word. It was very irritating. "You should not be on your foot like that."

Mrs. Hudson set a tray out and began getting tea things ready. "Mr. Holmes' brother is here," she explained. "I suppose you must have heard him ring the bell. I'll take this up to them and then get you something to eat. I don't want you to do a thing, do you understand me?"

I was already on my feet. "I can do it," I insisted. I'd never read or heard much about Mr. Holmes' brother. Mycroft, I think his name was. If I took the tea up, I would see him and Mr. Sherlock Holmes would know I was up. As soon as this visitor was gone, we would talk. Well, he would talk, and I would manage.

"Oh, very well," Mrs. Hudson said, allowing me the tray. She sank into her seat with a quiet sigh of relief. "My foot is aching me today."

Carrying the tray with steady hands, I went out. I shuddered as I went past the place in the hallway where I'd nearly been strangled to death. I went up the stairs, and entered apartment B.

As soon as Dr. Watson saw me, I thought he was going to jump out of his seat and order me back to my bed. Sherlock Holmes merely glanced me over and then returned his attention to his brother. The man had turned to see what had shocked Dr. Watson so, and I found myself under his scrutiny.

Mycroft Holmes was very much like his brother. He was much larger, though I estimated them to be of the same height. His steely grey eyes were sharp and alert.

I came forward to set the tray on the table. I stepped back, and raised an inquiring eyebrow at Mr. Holmes. Sherlock Holmes, that is.

"If you would, pour the tea, please," the detective requested.

That made Mr. Mycroft Holmes' eyebrows go up, and Watson made a sound of protest. With a short nod, I took my position at the table and began to pour out their tea. I noticed he had not called me 'Mary' as he had in the past. "You were saying, Mycroft?" Sherlock asked.

The large man glanced at me. "She can be trusted," Sherlock assured him. "In fact, she would listen outside my door and then how could we be sure of what she would hear?"

I couldn't help a smile. I'd wondered if he'd ever noticed my eavesdropping and clearly he had. His brother frowned in displeasure. "I need you to locate someone," he said, seeming to accept his brother's word. "I have already had some of my best men searching, and they can find no trace of her."

"Then, we must assume she does not want to be found," Sherlock answered, accepting a cup from me. I'd fixed it from memory: one sugar, no milk.

"She must be found," Mycroft responded, watching me fix Dr. Watson's cup. "She is merely a child. Her parents were promised the girl would be looked after, but she has vanished."

I saw Sherlock Holmes frown. "And why is the young lady so important?"

"Her father came into possession of some serious papers, and has been threatened," Mycroft explained succinctly. "He and his wife have already been put under protection. Their daughter was at school, but has since left there. We know she came to London, but that is all."

My hand shook slightly as I held out Dr. Watson's cup. It was me he was searching for. It had to be! My parents were all right!

"Does the young lady know she is in danger?" the doctor asked. "Why did she come to London alone?"

Mycroft lifted his shoulders. "Two sugars," he instructed me. "No one knows what the girl's intentions were."

"Her name?" Sherlock asked.

I braced myself for it as I held out his cup. "Serena Mary Norton," Mycroft answered. "Here is a photograph of her. I am told one other identifying mark of her is that she is as fine a singer as her mother."

He passed it over right under my nose. It was at least a year old. Sherlock gave it only a cursory glance before handing it over to his companion. "Naturally she would be," he commented. "Please fetch the small photograph you will find in the top drawer of my desk," he instructed, looking at me.

There was amusement in his eyes and tone. With a nod, I went to his desk and extracted the photo case from within the drawer. I brought it back and held it out to him. "Hand it to my brother," he ordered. "Would you say the young lady looks very much like her mother?"

Ah, the famous photograph my mother had left behind when she had fled London. Mycroft barely glanced at it. "You guessed," he accused.

"I did not," Sherlock said with dignity. "You are not the first who has requested I find Miss Serena Norton. I had already done my research and discovered the young lady's mother was the former Irene Adler. As such, you must know Miss Norton has a quick, clever mind."

A compliment from the great Sherlock Holmes? Whatever could he be up to?

"Have you found her then?" Mycroft asked swiftly.

"She is safe," the detective answered, his eyes glancing at me once. Mycroft followed his look and frowned, evidently assuming that I should not hear the location, even though I had been allowed to hear this much. "What do you make of the maid, Mycroft?"

"Really, Holmes," Watson protested that. "Haven't you done enough of that to the girl?"

Again, I was the target of Mycroft's sharp eyes. My time here had given me experience, and I held his gaze firmly. "She is an unlikely one," he determined after a moment. "Intelligent, and alone in the world. She has not been getting much sleep."

I smiled. "You may go now," Sherlock ordered. And I heard the underlying order: no listening at the door. I nodded once and left the room. My disguise had held up once more. I wondered why Sherlock hadn't told him, then and there, the truth. I had a feeling I was soon to find out.

When I had come back down, the housekeeper had a breakfast of broth and other items of soft consistency for me. It was, maybe, a half hour before the bell in the kitchen rang. Mrs. Hudson moved to get up, but I waved my hand at her. I pointed at myself and then upstairs.

"Mr. Holmes wants you to explain what happened?" Mrs. Hudson translated. I nodded. "Make sure he doesn't keep you up too long."

I smiled back and returned to Mr. Holmes' rooms. He and Watson were alone, and I presented myself before them. I put my hands behind my back and waited.

"You've done it very well," Holmes finally said after several seconds. I smiled. "I congratulate you on finding a role that most would never find you in."

That made me and Dr. Watson frown. "I said nothing as you clearly didn't want us to know," Holmes went on. "It was your fear at Ian Barry's arrival and then your reticence immediately afterward that tipped me off. And, as I told Mycroft, I completed my research, and discovered the truth."

"What truth?" Dr. Watson demanded.

Mr. Holmes looked at me inquiringly. "Shall I tell the story for Dr. Watson?" he asked.

I nodded. "Nearly four weeks ago, Miss Serena Norton, daughter of the former Irene Adler and Godfrey Norton, was sent home from boarding school," Holmes began. Though uninvited, I took a seat opposite him and Watson. "She was sent home for a very interesting reason: accusing a man of being a murderer."

"She didn't!" Watson exclaimed.

"She did, and she was quite right. However, that is not important. Our Miss Norton arrives at her current home, Lynbrook Manor, to find it vandalized. And on the night of her arrival, intruders attempt to kidnap her and burn the home down. Do I have it right so far?"

Watson turned his gaze to me in astonishment. Again, I nodded. "Coupled with the fact that she has not heard from her parents in over three months, Miss Norton decides to take the matter to someone who can solve the mystery," Holmes continued. "And only the best will do for her."

Though my throat ached, I laughed out loud. "However, once she arrives in London, having left her caretakers behind, Miss Norton does not find the detective at home," Mr. Holmes said, ignoring my outburst. "It is then she makes the drastic decision to join the London working force."

"A young lady does not become a servant," Watson objected, looking at me uneasily.

"She does when she has little money, and no friends to speak of," Holmes responded calmly. "So, where does a just turned fourteen year old young lady go? She takes the first available maid position she can and discovers exactly what she has been taking for granted all her life."

Put so baldly, his words make me sound like a spoiled child, but I can't deny the fact.

"She lasts a week, and is pursued by the eldest son of the house," Holmes said, and my eyebrows go up. How did he find that out? "Again, she returns to 221 Baker Street. Only this time, she takes on the temporary position of maid in the house under the name of Mary Leigh, her middle name and the name of her family's housekeeper."

"Miss Norton?" Watson asked me.

My eyes stay on Holmes, though I nodded. "She intends to tell her tale at the first opportunity, and endures the extreme temper of the other tenant," the detective went on. "Before she can explain to me, Ian Barry arrives and requests I find her. So, irrationally, she chooses not to trust us."

I shrugged in answer. "She searches for her parents' whereabouts on her own," Holmes told Watson. "The only responses she receives are either her parents had been and gone, having sent her several letters, or they never arrived.

"In the meantime, she runs into the very man she was hiding from, Barry, nearly getting caught. A mere few days later, she runs into another feared man in the market. Clearly, she is followed from here and is attacked. She decides, at long last, to entrust her case to me. Is that everything?"

"Not quite," I answered, speaking up for the first time. My hoarse voice pains me, and Dr. Watson frowns at me. "The murderer?"

Holmes looked momentarily puzzled and then he nodded in understanding. "The one you accused? What about him?" he asked. I pointed to my throat in answer. "He followed you here?"

A quick lift of my shoulders showed my own ignorance of the matter. "I will let Mycroft know," Sherlock said. "In the meantime, you are to stay here until Mycroft finishes his arrangement."

"Why?" I asked.

"Why?" Sherlock repeated.

"Why did they come after me?" I asked. I put my hand to my swollen throat. Talking hurt, very much, but the case was not done yet. "Who took my letters? What is this all about?"

The detective paused. "I do not know the exact details," he answered. "Mycroft only said your father discovered some dangerous papers. I can only theorize that the man who attacked you yesterday, whom you identified as a murderer, was watching you and took your letters to keep you isolated."

I considered that and nodded in agreement. "Why did you choose the life of a maid?" Dr. Watson asked, his tone resigned. If I persisted in talking, at least he would have his questions answered.

"As she said to me, Watson, she is 'just turned fourteen,'" Holmes responded for me. I smiled. "What other position could she take? She is too young to be a governess, and I doubt she would be very good at that were she the proper age. She has no experience for anything else."

"Why didn't you tell your brother in the first place?" the doctor demanded. "You knew what he was here for."

"I wanted to see if he would see it for himself," Sherlock said, seeming satisfied. "I imagine that by now he will have worked it out. Also, he would have told Serena's parents of what happened, and it would have upset them unnecessarily."

I frowned at him. "I have to explain?" I asked apprehensively. My parents were not going to appreciate my independent course.

"Yes," Holmes answered. "It is your story. You may want to rehearse with Mrs. Hudson."

"Yes, Mr. Holmes," I said wearily, getting to my feet. I hesitated. "Thank you."

"It has kept the boredom at bay," he answered, already reaching for his pipe.

I left the room thoughtfully. All would be taken care of and I would soon be reunited with my parents. It wasn't until I reached the main floor that I paused. How was I supposed to explain this to dear Mrs. Hudson?