Months past and Charlotte was doing well in her major in music and composition as well as her minor in Chemistry.

But something was holding her back. Her past was becoming overwhelming, so much so that every time she went to sleep, she dreamed of her terrible childhood along with her being kidnapped again.

She tried to think positive, as she had done the many years before, saying to herself that she wasn't Moriarty that she wasn't her past that she had changed. For the better.

But she couldn't stop what she thought and every night she would wake up in a sweat, trying to quiet her heavy breathing.

No matter what she did, she couldn't escape the nightmares.

And soon, as she grew dark circles under her eyes, she saw her past everywhere.

The many white male business majors in suits reminded her of someone she once knew who wore a Westwood suit.

The man drinking down the street reminded her of her father.

But not her papa.

She tried calling him. She really did. But she knew he was busy and she was too...sorta.

Sitting alone she was confronted something that for so long she was able to stay away from.

Her past.

And she couldn't escape it now.

"Are you sure she's okay," Thomas asked one of his friends who had her for advanced Chemistry earlier that day.

"Yeah," she said, "she looks calmer, a little tired but I think we all are."

"How calm?"

She thought for a moment, "too calm if you ask me, and too quiet too...at least compared to her normal self. But that's probably because she's tired or overworked."

"Alright...thanks."

Walking away, he went down an alley way since it was the nearest short cut to his dorm. Walking at a fast pace he slowed down when he saw a body with blood and smoke surrounding it.

"HEY," he yelled, "ARE YOU OKAY?!"

Frizzy hair sticking out at multiple ends and a pale face it took a second for him to recognize her.

But he knew then.

It was Charlotte.

Carrying her bridal style, with blood dripping on her light hair, he called the police.

"Yeah she's bleeding and she has something in her pocket."

He checked it to see cigarettes and a couple test tubes that seemed to come from the labs.

And then she woke up.

"What the," she slurred moving her head around to look at her surroundings.

"What the FUCK have you been doing," Thomas asked.

"Don't worry bout' it," she slurred as she hopped out of Thomas's hands, walking away but coming back with a beer bottle.

"No more for you," he said snatching the bottle smashing it against the brick wall in the alley way.

She ducked and then screamed as the glass shattered against the wall. Her hands shook as she covered her ears.

She then paced around until she saw Thomas mouth something.

"Fish and Chips?"

She then closed her eyes and saw her younger self sitting next to Sherlock and Ms. Hudson.

This was a memory.

A memory that never happened.

"Papa can I have Margret come over tomorrow," her younger self asked

"Of course," he replied.

Rotating around the table, she was practically invisible to the other people at the table. She never heard of much less knew of a Margaret.

This was her dream world.

A world where she had many friends as a child to go hang out with and talk about boys to.

A world where the nightmares didn't exist...the past was where it was supposed to be and the present was where it was supposed to be.

"Char," a voice said.

She rolled her eyes. Time to go back.

"Charlotte!"

She opened her eyes once again to see the blue sky and Thomas grabbing her hand to find a pulse.

"Miss me?"

"Charlotte Holmes what are you on?!"

She then got out a piece of paper.

Her list.

Many years prior to this moment, way before she went down a dark abyss, way before she did treatment so many years ago, she somehow ended up in Mycroft's house doing a performance in front of a bunch of people who he said, "had high positions in the British
Government."

As they left, he sat her down and had a "chat."

"Who told you?"

"No one," he said.

She looked into his eyes to find the lie. She found nothing.

"You have cameras."

"I have my ways," he said smoothly. He then passed her a piece of paper, a pen and some tea.

"You need to make a list."

"Of what?"

"Everything you've taken."

"Why?"

"It's the deal Holmes make to each other."

She stared at him for a moment before she took the pen and wrote the list.

"Here," she blinked several times as she swayed.

"What is this?"

"My list. Of what I've taken," she replied blinking a bunch again.

He looked at her in shock after he read the long and extensive list.

"You have to promise not to tell Sher. You're my buddy now."

"What?"

"My buddy."

He looked at her for a moment before taking her arm for her balance since she looked like she was going to fall over.

"Fine," he muttered as he escorted her to the ambulance.

"Show me her list," he said coldly.

Thomas woke up slowly to see a stern looking man in a fancy suit swinging his umbrella.

"And you must be her uncle," he said looking at him, "she taught me how to deduce," he added looking at Charlotte in her hospital bed as the sun's morning rays shined on her face through the nearby windows.

"She has a list?!"

Thomas turned to see Sherlock with his arms crossed sitting on the other side of the room.

"Of course," Mycroft said coldly, "what did you think I was going to do once I found out?"

"Nothing," Sherlock said coldly back, "since she isn't YOUR responsibility."

"Morning to you too," Charlotte interrupted while yawning. Stretching, she snatched the list from Thomas and put it in her bra.

"Hey!"

"You aren't my buddy Uncle. Tom is so bug off," she said annoyed, the hangover from the alcohol kicking in.

"Buddy," Mycroft said confused.

"I'm the only one who can see the list," Thomas rephrased as Charlotte threw up in a nearby bowl.

"Yes I've figured that out," Mycroft snapped.

"Here lemme see the list again," Thomas asked with his hand out.

"You better not give it to them," she threatened.

Two seconds later he passed the list to Sherlock and Mycroft.

"Are you fucking-"

She then got a look from Mycroft as he took the list. She stuck her tongue out at him.

"Oh. My-"

"I know Myc it's a little bit of a long list but-"

"Little bit," Sherlock whispered, "what even is that anyway," he said pointing at a long name of a chemical.

"Oh that's what you find in dust cleaner," she explained, "thought I should snort it," she said while moving her puffy hair out of her eyes, failing miserably.

"My god," Thomas said.

Sherlock for once said nothing, too busy examining the list.

"Mycroft, Thomas," he whispered, "Out."

"Sherlock-," Mycroft started.

"Out."

They both left quickly, quietly closing the door.

"Out of all people papa, you can't judge me," she started.

But he stood silent. Not even looking at her.

Just the list.

"Look I'm sorry. You have every right. I'm so stuck on the past that I can't move on I," she then stopped unable to figure out what to say.

"I have failed," he said looking at the list, "I was supposed to give you a better childhood then I had, without the drugs without the addiction without-"

"No no no," she interrupted.

"I failed," he said firmly with a sad tone, "I had one job. One. Job. And-"

"No no no," she started.

"It was supposed to turn out better."

"It was."

"You got kidnapped and abused and-"

"You couldn't change what happened before. Only after. And you did. Sherlock," she said tearing up, "you didn't fail me. I failed you."

He finally looked up from the list.

He finally looked at her.

What she had become.

But under all the frizzy hair and the red eyes and the alcohol breath and the stench of throw up he saw someone that he knew.

He saw his little girl.

"The reason why I did this was to forget. I have nightmares all the time and it sounds pathetic but," she paused again putting her head in her hands, "I can't escape. I can never move on, I can never-"

"It's bad isn't it?"

"Yeah."