Sherlock, John, and Brayleigh began moving the boxes Brayleigh had packed from her room to the porch.  As if on cue, Mrs. Hudson pulled up in her car.

"Hello, dear," Mrs. Hudson said to Brayleigh.

"Hi, Mrs. Hudson," Brayleigh replied. "Thank you so much for helping me move my things, especially on such short notice.  I know we really didn't get a chance to discuss rent in the short time we spent together this morning.  I hope this covers it."

Brayleigh walked over and handed Mrs. Hudson the money that she had in her coat pocket from earlier that morning.

Pushing in away, Mrs. Hudson said, "Don't worry about it, dear.  I'll let you know when the time comes."

"Brayleigh, " John interrupted.

"Yes, John?" she asked.

"I don't think...this is...going to...fit in the trunk," he said as he struggled with her cello.

Brayleigh looked across to the other side of the car.  "If we all sit in the back, we might be able to put it in the passenger seat," she suggested.

Just then Sherlock walked down the stairs.  Handing Brayleigh her sheet music and coat, he said, "I think that's everything."

"Wonderful," Brayleigh said with a smile.  Looking at the pile of boxes on the porch, and then the trunk, she said, "We should probably try to put my books in first."

"No," Sherlock said.

"What do you mean, no?" Brayleigh asked.

"Look," Sherlock began.  "It's quite simple.  Put your sheets in first, followed by your books, then your suitcase,"he explained. "You'll be able to fit your instruments, well obviously except for your cello, in easier."

Taking his advice, Brayleigh put her sheets in the trunk, followed by Sherlock with the books, and Brayleigh again with her suitcase.  "John, are you alright over there?" Brayleigh stopped and asked.

John closed the passenger side door and looked over at Sherlock and Brayleigh.  "Yeah, just had a row with your cello is all," he said.

Sherlock leaned down and whispered so that only Brayleigh could hear him.  "He had a row with a card machine at the grocery store once."

Trying not to laugh, Brayleigh said quietly, "Oh my, that's awful."

Once Brayleigh's other instruments were in the trunk, the trio got in the backseat; John sat on the left, Sherlock in the middle, and Brayleigh on the right.

"Thanks again for helping me move," Brayleigh said to Mrs. Hudson as she drove away from the house.

"You're welcome, dear," Mrs. Hudson replied. "Just don't think I'll be doing this all the time."

"Oh, of course not," Brayleigh replied.

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The drive back to Baker Street was made longer by the evening traffic rush.  Brayleigh was trying not to nod off, but she eventually gave in to the sweet siren call of sleep pulling her away from reality.  As she closed her eyes, Brayleigh could feel her head making its way onto Sherlock's shoulder.  Normally she would care, but the day had been so taxing on her, not to mention that she barely managed to sleep for three hours the night before, that any sleep she could get was welcome.

Once she was sure Brayleigh was asleep, Mrs. Hudson said, "She seems to be taking to you Sherlock."

Sherlock looked down at Brayleigh from the corner of his eye.  She had managed to curl her legs up on the car seat and was using her coat as a blanket.

"I don't understand how," John said in response to Mrs. Hudson's statement.  "It's Sherlock we're talking about."

Sherlock turned his head and gave John a look.

"You're not exactly the most welcoming person, you know," John told him.

"Whether I am or not isn't important.  What is important, however, is solving this case for her, more so because the Moriartys are involved," Sherlock said.

John looked straight at Sherlock without saying anything and then, after a few seconds, said, "You like her, don't you?"

Sherlock stared at John, an unreadable expression on his face.  "John, I told you I can't afford sentiment," he said.

"Mmm, no.  You like her," John argued.

Sherlock looked at Brayleigh again and said, "She was never the 'popular' girl in school. On the contrary, she was the quiet and intelligent one in the back of the class.  She was, and is, an avid reader.  She appreciates music, preferring classical and Broadway to modern day pop.  She's science minded; never leaving her house without a calculator and a pair of latex gloves.  Unfortunately, when she was in school, this didn't end well for her.  She was the target of bullying, which resulted in the development of teenage depression on top of her already existing stress and anxiety issues.  Puberty only worsened the problem, making her the target for catcalls and harassment.  She attempted suicide once, but hesitated and decided against it.  She's never been in a relationship, instead choosing to focus on her work.  She trusts us, because she feels that we are, in some way, like her and thus she can be more like herself."

The car got quiet for a second.  "Well, I like her better than the other one, Sherlock," Mrs. Hudson said.

"Wait," John asked.  "Which other one?  Janine?"

"Yes, Janine.  I didn't like her.  She wasn't right for him," Mrs. Hudson replied.

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It was around 19:30-20:00 when Mrs. Hudson pulled alongside the sidewalk outside of 221B Baker Street.  Brayleigh woke with a start and, knowing that she had fallen asleep on Sherlock, turned to him and said, "I'm terribly sorry that I had fallen asleep on you, Sherlock.  That was rather rude of me."

"Oh, you're perfectly fine," Sherlock said as they exited the car.  "John does it more often than he'd like to admit."  He turned and looked at Brayleigh.  "It's 19:53.  There's enough time for you to unpack your things and come down to discuss the case.  Shall we?"  Sherlock motioned Brayleigh over to the trunk where they each took a box and one of Brayleigh's instruments.  John was about to grab the cello from the passenger seat, but Brayleigh stopped him.

"John, would you take this last box and my clarinet in for me?  I can come back for my cello if you would like," she suggested.

"That might be easier," John said, taking the box and the clarinet from the trunk to 221A.

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Once everything was put away in Brayleigh's flat upstairs, she made her way down to see Sherlock and John. 

"So, about the case?" Brayleigh asked as she sat down on the couch, now wearing her pajamas.

"Yes, the case," Sherlock said.  He was sitting in his chair with both his and Mycroft's laptops open on the table in front of him, his chin resting on top of his hands.  Keeping his gaze on the computers screens, he continued, "I managed to access the government's classified profiles on the Saorises while you were changing.  According to this," he pointed to the site on Mycroft's screen, "the government employed them for several confidential missions--"

"Which is how they could have known, or at least known of, my actual parents," Brayleigh interrupted, making her way over so that she was standing behind Sherlock and looking at the computer screens.

"Precisely what I was thinking," he stated.  "It would also explain why neither of them have arrest records."  His eyes scanned both screens again.  "Or any records...," he paused and thought before suddenly yelling, "Brayleigh!"

"Yes?" Brayleigh asked, surprised.

"Forget for a moment that we're trying to find your parents.  Now think," Sherlock suddenly got up and started to pace about the room.  "The only verifiable documentation of the Saorise's involves classified government operations.  If you're working for the government, one of two things occur: you either try to maintain a normal life, or you try to disappear."

"But the Saorise's are only documented on government papers," Brayleigh interjected.  "Which eliminates the earlier possibility.  That means that they were, in fact, trying to disappear, or--"

Sherlock and Brayleigh looked at each other, and finished the sentence in unison. "They never existed!"

Brayleigh stood quite for a moment.  After awhile she said, "Hold on.  I think I might have something."

As Brayleigh dashed back up to her flat, John turned away from his laptop and looked at Sherlock.  "What are you thinking?" he asked.

"I thought that it was likely that the Saorises assumed aliases, but I wasn't quite sure," Sherlock admitted.  "Now, if Saorise is their alias, what was their name before?  I tried looking on Mycroft's laptop, but he doesn't seen to have anything other than what the government has.  Since they worked for the Moriartys, it would be safe to assume that they possessed a secondary anonym, but what?  What were their names?  What were their names before?"  Sherlock paced the floor a few times before he sat back down in his chair and brought his legs up to his chest. 

Suddenly, Brayleigh burst though the doorway carrying a small laptop.  "I though we might need this," she explained as she opened the computer and set it down next to Sherlock's on the table.

Sherlock smirked.  "Nice work," he said.

John stood silent, his mouth agape.  "Nice work? Nice wor-Sherlock, she can't have that here.  It's evidence!"

"Correction," Sherlock stated.  "We  can't have it, but she  can."

"Sherlock, you do realise that if Lestrade finds out about this, we all could go to prison," John argued.

"Oh, please," Sherlock fired back, "I took a bloody suitcase from a bin outside and Lestrade did nothing.  As for prison, I can solve a case faster than all of Scotland Yard.  He needs me more than I need him."

"Well, this is all fine and dandy," Brayleigh interrupted, "but this laptop is encrypted and I don't know the password."

Sherlock and John both turned to look at Brayleigh. "I need to have a better understanding of your kidnappers before I can even make an attempt," Sherlock said as he picked up the small silver computer and started to examine it.  Looking at Brayleigh, he said, "Describe them to me."