Guys, don't kill me. I know I started another story in the process of another, but I promise I'll update both as much as possible.

AT-

The first time I met my father, he was drowning in the Thames.

My mother had suggested we visit London over the Christmas holiday and I agreed, for I had never seen London and at thirteen, curiosity overtook me often. We stayed in a beautiful hotel, its lobby decorated lavishly with traditional symbols of the holidays. They even had a tree, covered with gilded candles, indoors! Oh, how I could have sat and watched that beautiful spruce for the rest of my days!

My mother was secretive about her job (I knew she had some sort of work arrangement, because she was a single mother and could afford furs for both herself and me) so I often spent my free time wandering the snowy streets of the Mayfair district, strolling through Green Park and sitting to stare at the magnificent (and relatively new) Buckingham Palace while waiting for her to return.

Mother and I dined out every evening, often visiting her many friends at the various artistic performances about town. They would exclaim things like "My, you have gotten so big, I remember when you were barely a metre high!" and "Goodness, how you look just like your mother!" As you can imagine, these compliments embarrassed me more than they flattered me, and I found myself blushing under the gaze of men on more than one occasion.

On one particular afternoon, my mother suggested I accompany her on a 'shopping trip' to the other side of the city, and I obliged, as it was snowing and too cold to explore. She hailed us a cab and before long we were settled warmly and on our way.

"Alice, do you know what a bascule suspension bridge is?"

"It's a relatively new invention per se, is it not? Those have been used for generations, the french just recently discovered how to utilize it properly. The Tower Bridge is one of those," I replied, looking at her curiously. "Why ever do you ask?"

Mother only smiled at me, but her eyes were tinted with an emotion I didn't understand.

"My, how smart you are," she said with a dainty laugh. "We will be driving over that bridge, the first of its kind on such an immense scale, and I thought you might be interested."

Of course I was, and much to my mother's amusement I spent the next few minutes staring out the freezing window panes of the cab, my eyes scanning for any sign of the huge structure. We sat in comfortable silence until I spotted the bridge, pointing it out excitedly. She laughed, listening to me ramble on about bridges and architecture and vertical suspension.

The cab rolled over the pavement, and though nearly ten years old, it was still deliciously smooth under the wheels. Many other carriages and a few motorcars traversed the bridge, but up ahead it seemed as though the traffic had stopped. Our cabbie pulled us over, walking to the side of the cab with an apologetic smile.

"Ma'am, I'm beggin' your pardon, but it seems as though a man has fallen off the bridge and traffic is forbidden to pass. I assure you we will be moving along shortly."

Mother nodded in understanding, murmuring to herself. The cabbie bowed shortly and disappeared into the crowd that had gathered along the edge of the bridge to see what was going on. My mother, being as curious as I, slipped out of our warm cab and into the freezing snow, and I, thinking that she had gone crazy, sat in stunned silence, watching her go. When had my mother decided to be the type to brave the cold and crowd to see a man die? After a few minutes, the questions that had arose in my head were eating at me, and I too had decided I needed to investigate.

Climbing out of the carriage, I stepped into the trampled snow along the edge of the road, my breath catching in my throat due to the cold. I trudged forward, pushing through the crowd, and as I neared the railing I saw one of the sole most terrifying scenes of my young life.

My mother had stripped down to her winter petticoats and thrown herself off the bridge.

Screaming, I scrambled through the few remaining people to stare over the edge, watching my mother swan-dive into the freezing river below. I continued to yell, begging someone to do something, someone to explain what was going on, and someone to save my mother. An old woman wearing several tattered shawls pulled me close, murmuring that it was okay, my mother was fine, and to watch, her cockney accent thick with distress. With tears streaming down my face, I settled my gaze on the gray waves some many metres below. A few moments went by, and suddenly I could see my mother's head bobbing about in the water. My heart fluttered happily, and I then realized she had the supposedly drowning man by his dress shirt, attempting to swim and pull him to the nearest portion of seawall.

A tall man with a blonde mustache rode by in a police vehicle, screaming out of the window, "Move out of the way, the police need to get through! Everyone back, back please, yes! I'm a doctor, thank you!"

The Mariah continued down the bridge and to the road below, trying to get as close to the water as possible. The crowd followed the car, all talking loudly about what was going on. Instead of walking down to the water with the rest of the civilians, I decided to stay up on the bridge a bit to get a better view of what was going on. I watched several policemen throw a rope to my mother and she tied it to the, heaven forbid, seemingly dead man. They pulled both my mother and the man in, helping first my mother and then the unknown body up out of the water. Immediately, blankets and warm water were dispensed to the two victims, and I ran down the bridge, pushing through the crowd and to my mother.

She was shivering from the cold and the doctor was taking her vitals.
"Ms. Adler, it's good to see you again, though unfortunately under such circumstances."
Mother laughed shakily, replying with her customary grace, "It is good to see you as well Doctor, though Sherlock may disagree when he comes to." They both laughed at this, before the blonde doctor excused himself to see to 'Sherlock.'

Mother gestured me forward, wrapping her arms around me as I wept into her soaking dress. She let me cry, whispering soothing words. After I had finished my small bout of hysteria and she had wiped my tears away with her already wet towel, she told me to sit, but her eyes never left the body of the man from the river. He was wrapped in blankets and the blonde man with the mustache, the Doctor, was hammering his chest in rhythmic CPR.

Mother sighed, and turned her eyes momentarily towards me.

"It's time I told you the truth, Alice. Your father didn't die when you were an infant."

I looked at her in shock, immediately demanding an explanation but I was cut off. The man from the river, Sherlock, had come to and was currently being helped upright. They forced steaming hot water in a mug down his throat, and he sputtered all sorts of profanity imaginable. My mother, seeing he was alive, quickly moved to his side, taking his hand. Just as she did this however, the man recoiled from her touch, nearly jumping off the side of the gurney he had just been helped onto.

"WOMAN. WHAT THE BLOODY HE-"

"Sherlock, for God's sake, mind your language! There are young ears about!" Mother scolded him, much to my horror. Instantly the man turned around to stare at me, his grey eyes seeming to dig into my very soul. My mother beckoned me forward, and I carefully made my way towards her, my gaze never wavering from that of the man's.

As I reached her side, she pulled off my fur hat, allowing my long waves, the same auburn color as hers, to fall over my shoulders, and I could have sworn Sherlock had let a small, nearly inaudible gasp escape. The Doctor's eyes glanced from me to Holmes to my mother and if on cue, he politely walked away to talk to a police officer.

A silence fell over the three of us, and I could still feel the man's gaze on my face. Mother was the first to break the silence, and with a tiny, almost sheepish smile, she murmured, "Alice, meet Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock, meet your daughter."