And now, back to  our story, already in progress.  As the tale continues to unfold, Mycroft Holmes finds himself wondering if the woman he found in the alley isn’t who he thought she was at all.

If a little harmless accidental fanfiction isn’t your cuppa, just remember what South Park taught us.

Act Two – Mycroft

“Stop, you ridiculous woman.” Mycroft Holmes digs his heels into the packed dirt of the roadway and jerks hard against his sister’s tug. “What part of ‘stay home and keep out of trouble for once in your bloody life’ failed to make sense to you?”

Charlotte rebounds at the sudden counter-movement and almost loses her footing. She spins on him, glaring. Something is strangely not right about that glare. Not Charlotte, and he’s seen her glare enough in their lives to recognize it distinctly. “Don’t know why you tell me not t’run off so much when you’re the one who goes runnin’ around like an idiot. An unsupervised one at that. What part of ‘we’re a team’ don’t you get?” She tugs at his arm again. This time, he holds fast; this time, he keeps a grip of her arm as well. “Come on, Doctor! We’ve got to-“

“That’s it.” Mycroft scans both sides of the street, trying to find a spot that looks less questionable or unsanitary than the others. Seeing the awning of a boarded up storefront, he puts what few pounds he has over his sister to good use dragging her toward it. “We’re not going anywhere until we get a few things straight, you and I. Like who I am. Who you think I am, anyway.”

For the second time, the woman wearing Charlotte’s face looks at him in a way that is similar to his sister but not her at all. She blinks up at him in irritated confusion; Charlotte rarely looks confused, even if she is. Her pride doesn’t allow for such things. “You’re the Doctor.”

“Yes, you keep calling me that. What’s my name?”

“That is your name. Only one you’ve ever given me, anyway. Oh, wait. You’ve used John Smith before, too, come to think of it. But only if you have to. M’convinced you got stuck with somethin’ really bad, like Humperdink maybe. S’why you stick with ‘the Doctor.’”

He shakes his head. The act is meant to shake off the insanity as much as to negate the comment. “My name isn’t Humperdink. Or ‘the Doctor’. It’s Mycroft. Mycroft Holmes. And you’re-“

“Wow. Even worse than I thought.” She pauses, then, and looks up at him. “Wait, like from the book?”

“No, like from our parents.” It’s his turn to stop and blink. “What book?”

“You know, ‘The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes.’ Come on, I know you’ve read ‘em. You did the Sherlock impression last week! Wait…” She turns him so his face is caught in the brief break of gaslight filtering across the street. “Did you say ‘our parents’?”

“Did you say ‘Sherlock’ Holmes?” A scream echoed down the narrow, dark corridor of the street. It sounded familiar. It sounded, current visual evidence be damned, like Charlotte. “I think this explanation will have to wait. Come on!”