Waiting is incredibly dull; especially in airports. I despise lines. They are always keeping me from moving forward. I already know everything about everyone in this line. Widowed husband in front and possibly gay partners behind. All terrifyingly-BEEP.
Heads swivel to the noise to find out what is going on. Everyone stares at Amelie Emmerton in accusation, including the security guards. Oh lovely. The sheep are looking at me like I am a big bad wolf. Except for the gay couple. Tall, dark, and handsome is just looking peeved and military doctor is looking amused with it all. I'm sure I look like the tall one, as well. All I want to do is get back to America and away from this blasted country.
Some officer asks, "Ma'am, could you please step this way?"
"Yeah, sure. What's the problem?"
"We are going to have to search you. You will feel my hands, so do not be alarmed."
"Alright. Can I ask why?"
"Can you pull out your pockets?"
"Well, my back ones don't come out and I'm pretty sure all that is left in them is lint." Amelie tries to break all of the tension with her humor, but the guard just looks more seriously at her. Five more arrived to surround the area. Dear god, what did I do.
"Step over there by that machine."
"I don't understand, what is going on?" Honestly, I cannot fathom what is going on. That in itself is terrifying.
"Step over to that machine."
"Okay, okay." Amelie raises her hands in surrender as the guard tries to force her over to the machine. The man at the machine is kinder, but still looks darkly at her. Could they possibly think I am a terrorist? For heaven's sake, I am sixteen years old. Then again, I am more intelligent than half of the people in the room and oh, no. They stopped the lines. They do think I am a threat. What did I do? The man scanned Amelie's hands and the machine stayed silent as only a green box that gave her the clear came on the screen. Thank you! Now I can get on my plane and-
Two officers come over and take Amelie by the arm. "You will come with us, please?"
"What is going on? I haven't done anything and I just want to get back to America."
"Your departure will be postponed until we receive answers from you."
"You do realize I haven't received any of my own, but I think I can help you out now by stating I am not a threat." Handsome is looking extremely upset now. What is he doing? Is he walking over-
A deep baritone voice accompanies the mystery man as he stalks towards the group now surrounding Amelie. "What is going on here? You do realize this is not how a possible threat is dealt with, do you not? My partner and I would like to board our plane so we can finish a blasted case and all of you are mucking about trying to get this girl to come with you. Also, she is right. You haven't answered one of her questions and I wouldn't care one bit on any other day, but I am in a hurry now, so I'm begging you, please get these problems handled or I will." Tall, dark, handsome and intelligent. I should've paid him more attention. Also, more to his partner, as well. Not a gay couple then. Business relationship and possibly friends. Oh, army doctor is talking to mystery man now. I wonder- "Excuse me, but I would really like to know what it is that I have done!"
Heads swivel again as Amelie loudly repeats her question. Still no one answers. Throwing her hands up in exasperation she begins to walk to the office door by herself to answer these peoples' questions. "Honestly, I don't understand how I can deal with this. All I wanted to know is the one answer that I cannot figure out by myself and all of you are just standing there stammering like children!"
The partners (possibly involved in the justice system knowing that they were going to America to work on a case) turned to look inquisitively at Amelie. The man she could figure little about stared almost right through her and she could feel his deductions rolling off him in waves. She has never had what she does turn on her before. It is slightly terrifying.
The short one pulls something out of the taller man's coat pocket and opens it up. "We are going to take over this case now and see what can be done while you all stand around. Don't try to stop us or I will contact your authorities. Get the lines moving again and do your jobs for once. Also, information on why we are talking to the girl."
Someone speaks up and says, "Her suitcase had a suspicious item inside of it. May be bomb related."
The tall one shakes his head. "Surely you couldn't have simply opened it and removed the item."
"That isn't how we work, sir."
"Obviously," and on that note the duo walked over to where Amelie was standing dumbfounded. A bomb? A bomb related item in my bag? I didn't even have anything metal inside of my bag, I don't understand. How-
The short one started to talk to Amelie first after putting all three of them in the office room. "Are you okay?"
No. "Yes."
The man looks deeply at her and then turned towards the tall one. "Explain to me why we are doing this again?"
The tall one just smiles at the army doctor and turns towards Amelie. "So, a bomber, are you? How interesting, really didn't peg you for one."
"I really don't understand how any of this is happening. I didn't even open my bag since I left the hotel and I'm fairly certain I didn't put anything bomb- Oh."
"What is it?"
"I did open my bag. Here. Just before I went in through the security lines. A man in a white V-neck and black jeans ran into me and my suitcase spilled open. I wouldn't have thought anything of looking at the man, but I noticed his shoes. Italian style and extremely expensive. I only remembered him because he had expensive shoes, but an outfit that screamed a ten-dollar worth. It was weird, as was he. He was about your height," Amelie points at the shorter one, "but was much paler and had black hair."
The tall one smirks and turns towards the doctor. "See? I knew it."
"You guessed, didn't mean you knew it."
"Happened four times this month, I did know it as soon as I saw the machine go green and the officer's move in."
"Could have been a coincidence this time."
Mysterious turns to look at Amelie and shakes his head, "It wasn't, though, clearly. The man you just had contact with is one of the most dangerous people you will ever meet. His name is James Moriarty."
James Moriarty... It couldn't be, but it is. Her parents best friend and is apparently the most dangerous man she will ever meet. Another piece to my puzzle. "I know who James Moriarty is. I can't believe I didn't recognize him, but I haven't seen him since I was a little girl."
"What," the pair asks in unison.
"James Moriarty. I know him. He is, was, my parents closest friend."
"Friend," the tall one asks.
"Well, yes. Not anymore, though. My parents, they died. It was a car crash that was blamed on technical failures, but I never believed it. I think they were murdered. The only proof I have is that they had an argument with Jim the night before and started to pack a suitcase only to turn up dead the next day. I never suspected Jim, but now, I don't know what I suspect." Could I seriously have just run into my parent's murderer?
"What did your parents do?"
Why is he so curious about me? "On record, they were florists. I think they may have done more than that, but I never had evidence."
"Interesting..."
"Can I ask what we are doing here? Clearly, you aren't officials that can actually deal with a terrorist and all you have asked is about my bag and my parents. I don't see any progress being made to me leaving here and on my way back home."
"America isn't your home. If you had people who were waiting for you there, then yes it would be, but you are travelling with expectations of disappointment."
"How did you-"
"No, don't ask that. Right now, we are going to leave and figure this out at my," a stern look gets shot at Mysterious from the doctor, "our, flat. Come along." With that said, the pair left with Amelie trailing behind.
"Wait! We can't just leave, I haven't been cleared or anything."
"Just you trying to stay here to prove your innocence is proof enough for me to clear you. Plus, I texted Mycroft."
As if that explains anything. "So, we are just going to walk out?"
"Well, if you would prefer to skip I suppose we could manage that."
Oh, the sass from this one. "What about my bag?"
The doctor comes jogging over with Amelie's case in his hands. "Got it."
"Thank you, John."
So, John is his name. "How did you get it?"
"It was tossed with a bunch of unclaimed luggage; I just kind of grabbed it. Also, I checked inside. There wasn't anything in it that was 'bomb related'"
"How did you know it was mine?"
"Someone had put a red tag on it. I just assumed that meant it was a possible threat bag, which would have been yours."
That is slightly brilliant. "Good assumption, Doctor Watson."
The trio had been already on their way to the entrance of the airport when Amelie said this. The doctor in question stopped short and then ran to catch up with the still walking pair. "How did you know I was a doctor?"
"I knew you were of military bearing first. I saw that in your manner of walking and authority. Also, the haircut gave it away a bit. I only assumed doctor because a military man would tend to have more injuries, but the only injury is to your left shoulder. So, you were in the army for an admirable amount of time, judging from your still fading tan, and didn't receive many injuries. Not in the direct line of fire a lot, but still in a danger zone. Only a medic fits there and since you were clearly a commanding man, a doctor was the most likely. I got Watson from seeing the upper portion of your ticket in your coat pocket."
"Amazing."
"Really, I don't see what the big deal is. I just simply observed and deduced. Not the hardest thing."
"Sherlock, how did you possibly manage to save the one girl who is exactly like you?"
So, there is a name to the face.
"Can you deduce me?"
Amelie turns her head towards Sherlock as they all stop at the curb of the pickup/drop-off point outside. "All I have gotten from you is detective, but not a private eye. More like a freelancer, but you are extremely good at what you do. Also, that you enjoy to pickpocket officials."
Sherlock's face turns from a look of smugness into one of interest. "Consulting detective. Only one in the world. How did you manage to get your last deduction, though?"
That one was just a shot in the dark. "The identification John took from you could only be obtained through the police. Seeing as you didn't immediately pull it out meant that you only used it for convenience and not for official business, which I concluded that you had taken it."
"Very good." The gaze is turned full force on Amelie as Sherlock tries to pick out new things about the girl. "What is your name?"
"Amelie Emmerton." A noise of amusement slips through Sherlock's mouth and Amelie turns on him. "Don't be so coy about my name, Sherlock." She draws out his name to make her point. The doctor makes a quick snort and the detective just stares blankly at Amelie. Suddenly, a black car pulls up to the triad and the door opens from inside. A cool voice beckons from within. "Do come in brother dear. I fear we may have to discuss why you are getting involved with terrorists at the- Oh hello." The voice turns to Amelie as she ducks her head inside. The man she sees inside might be Mycroft, and is apparently Sherlock's brother. Government official, but I can't place him in any spot in particular. Older than Sherlock, but not so old that could cause those faint wrinkles. Stressful day, then. Must have pulled a lot of strings for me to get out of the airport without sporting a pair of handcuffs. Tension between the siblings, but I like them both. I have a feeling I may end up being forced to side with one of them if a fight breaks out. "Hello."
"So, you are the one who I have gone through all this trouble for and you are American. You must be important in more than one way. Involved with James Moriarty are you?"
The shock showed clearly on Amelie's face because the rest of the men started to chuckle. Mycroft began to speak again. "I can assume you already deduced I am a government official and I can tell you that you are slightly correct. With my position, I can survey any area and when I heard there was a possible terrorist at the airport my brother was at, I put my resources to use. Please, do tell me of what you know of Mister Moriarty."
The rest of the car ride consisted of Amelie retelling her story and adding in details that she may have purposefully missed. Also, she let forth everything she knew about James Moriarty. From his clothing style to his old phone number, she told them the whole shebang. The entire time there was only silence from the now known as Holmes boys and a shake of the head from John as she got to an emotional point in her story. It was odd having that sympathy coming from someone who clearly had seen and heard worse. Odd, yet comforting, even though she didn't need comforting. Never had the thought of emotional pain ever come about, but having that small gift of affection was appreciated. I think this sentimental feeling is not the worst thing I have ever experienced. Dangerous, yes, but worthy to look further into. The car is slowing down, have we arrived?
The driver opened the car door and Sherlock dashed out and up a set of stairs to a door marked as 221. As Amelie climbed out slowly after John she took notice of street signs that indicated Baker Street. 221 Baker Street... Amelie took a long look around as she tried to decide just where in England she was. As the bustle of city life made its presence known in the frosty air, she decided London. She was supposed to be heading back to a comfortable temperature in Florida, but now here Amelie stood, taking in the effects of watching her breath swirl like smoke coming out of a chimney. It reminded her of living in New York. Not that she missed the cold, but the scenery that it provides is nice. An elegant tone from behind her brought Amelie back to reality. "Are you going to need anything else, Amelie?" Oh, Mycroft, how noticeable it is that you are forcing yourself to be polite.
Pasting a smile on her face, Amelie turned around and simply said, "No." Actually, I really have the need of warmer weather in America, but other than that, no.
Mycroft could see what was behind the smile and simply chuckled. "I will be seeing you again, quite soon, dear. Thank you for all the information you have provided. It has proved invaluable." Then, with a quick movement, Mycroft Holmes shut the door and the car sped away. I cannot decide if the man is simply creepy or intimidating. I like him.
Slowly, Amelie turned away from the curb and stared at the door of the supposed flat of Doctor John Watson and Consulting Detective Sherlock Holmes. Its location is next to a café looking shop named Speedy's. I wonder who the landlord... No, clearly landlady, is.
Before she could decide on the profile, John made a loud noise from the doorway of 221 Baker Street. How long has he been standing there? How long have I been standing here? Flushed cheeks and relaxed position confirms five to six minutes. Zoning out isn't necessarily something I do. The cold is off setting my mind.
"So, are you going to come inside, or freeze to death out here?"
"You are a doctor, John. You know that dying from the cold isn't remotely likely as of this moment."
"I swear to god you are a female Sherlock. I don't know how I will put up with two geniuses."
"You aren't putting up with me. I am not staying here."
"Oh, you aren't are you? Then, where are you going?"
Drats. The doctor has a point. Silence is the only answer Amelie gives to John. John doesn't stay quiet waiting for her to answer, though. "Listen, before we go inside, I have to say something."
"Shoot, doctor."
"Mycroft and Sherlock Holmes are the most bitter of enemies. The first day I met Mycroft, he described himself as Sherlock's arch enemy. People don't have arch enemies, but then again Sherlock isn't like people." John stops for a moment as he allows himself to chuckle at the thought of his friends' dramatics. "Anyways, that car ride was the first time I have ever experienced a non-controversial moment between them. I don't know what it is about you, but I think having three geniuses in the car may have evened out the board between them."
Should I say thank you or- "Doctor Watson, what is your point?" Oh, dear brain, I meant to think that, not say it.
"My point being, I think you are not a terrorist, for starters, and the second, that I certainly don't mind putting up with you if you can make the Holmes brothers that calm." John paused a moment before continuing, taking in Amelie's expression. "Now that you understand the situation, would you please come inside?"
The doctor was wrong. We had four geniuses in that car. He is just a different kind of genius. "Yes, I think I might," and with that Amelie swept past John in a flurry to get warmth back into her system. Good god, it is nice in here. Smells like a home. Landlady is most likely an older woman.
"Oh, hello", a woman's voice comes from the doorway.
"Hello."
The woman bustles over as Amelie gives a fresh shudder from the cold. "John! What were you doing keeping the poor girl outside. Oh, come on in here, dear, I will fix you up a cup of tea."
"I don't particularly like tea. Coffee is alright, though."
"You are American? Why are you here all alone in London?"
"There was a-", how to word this without sounding like a terrorist. John came to her rescue by saying, "a discrepancy at the airport caused her to have to postpone her flight and Sherlock and I were there to help her out. No need to worry about her Mrs. Hudson. She isn't alone." On that note, John left to go upstairs.
Mrs. Hudson is her name...Anyone who dares to say that man isn't a genius is going to have to offer a mountain of evidence to prove otherwise. Thank you to whoever made John Watson be alive and existing. "I am also perfectly capable to take of myself. It is just more convenient to stay here until I have my...situation... corrected."
"Oh, you sound so much like my Sherlock upstairs. I'll tell you dear, I won't doubt you for a second, but people always need someone to take care of them. It is just our nature." Mrs. Hudson handed Amelie a cup of coffee as she said this. The steam beckoned her appetizingly and the taste was just right.
I don't know why I am listening to this. I have been alone for years now. I don't need anybody. Alone shields me from the unpleasant things in life. "Thank you, Mrs. Hudson. I believe I am alright now. I think I will follow John upstairs." I said that rather mechanically. Should I apologize or just say thank you for the coffee. "Mrs. Hudson?"
"Yes, dear?"
"I'm sorry for being rather rude. You have a point. People shouldn't be alone. Thank you for the coffee. It is absolutely delicious."
"Oh, don't be sorry. The cold makes us a bit snappy sometimes. Off you go, I am sure you want to get back to America as soon as possible and I've just been keeping you. Up, up." Mrs. Hudson began shooing Amelie up the stairs while grabbing a blanket and handing it to her. That woman is a miracle worker. Comfort, coffee, and a blanket? I am glad I apologized.
As that thought finished, Amelie opened up the door to what is apparently 221B in the building. Her eyes darted over the room in a quick scan for threats and to get an idea of the place she was going to be staying at for the time being. John was in a comfortable looking chair with a laptop and smiled at her as Amelie glided in. Well, I hope I glided. I suppose it is hard to look cool wrapped in a blanket clutching a cup of coffee like its life itself. Sherlock was nowhere to be seen, but Amelie could hear him perfectly fine behind a door. Bedroom, maybe? Is that a violin? Yes, it is. Tchaikovsky, I believe. Still looking around at her environment, Amelie notices four really prominent things. One, the spray painted smile on the right wall with bullet holes in it. Target practice? Then, there was the skull on the mantelpiece. It was, without a doubt, genuine. The third thing that she noticed was the stairs, which indicated a second room. Maybe it is John's bedroom. Finally, the kitchen. What looked to possibly be a table was covered in a chemistry set and other items. There appeared, resting on the opposite counter, a jar of fingers and the fridge looked rarely used for food. I wonder if I could just take a peek... Her movement towards the fridge stopped short by a sudden imposing figure. Has no respect for personal space.
"Sit", Sherlock commanded to Amelie with his bow.
"Where?"
"Don't be dull, find a chair." With that, Sherlock climbed over John, a table and flopped lazily into the other chair. I was going to sit there. Guess I will take the couch.
"Sherlock! You can disrespect furniture, I really don't care, but you simply cannot climb over me."
"I wasn't aware you cared, John."
John only stayed mute and continued his earlier work on his laptop. Amelie had managed to make it to the couch before feeling the gaze of the man-child rest on her back. Quickly she whipped around and stared back into the smoke-filled eyes. Sherlock looked down first, pretending to do something important to his bow. Amelie smirked with the thought of winning that battle. "Tchaikovsky", she said.
Sherlock snapped up his head from his inspection of his bow and a small smile threatened to break through. "I wasn't aware you understood music."
"I not only understand music, but I also play." With that Amelie walked straight over to Sherlock, took his violin bow, grabbed the violin lying at his feet and began to weave music through the flat. Both John and Sherlock looked at Amelie with shock as notes poured out of the instrument. Just as quickly as she had begun, Amelie stopped the music short and handed the violin and bow to the silent detective, then stalked back to the couch and spread herself over every inch that her five foot two body could cover while placing her fingers underneath her chin in a prayer like form. John suddenly had a mad fit of laughter and almost fell out of his chair.
"What's so funny Doctor Watson", Amelie asked.
"You...Just... Made... hold on..." John choked on another wave of laughter. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry", he said as he wiped tears from his eyes. "It's just that I haven't seen Sherlock so stunned and silent since the case with Irene Adler, and even then, he still could make out words!" John looked over at Sherlock with a knowing look and Sherlock just rose and shoved the violin at Amelie.
"What-", Amelie tried to ask before Sherlock interrupted her.
"Your piece, you didn't finish it. Do it now."
Slowly, Amelie rose from her place on the couch and took the violin from the towering man in front of her. "Why?"
"Because I said so and you are a guest here until we understand why Moriarty is planting almost-bombs in suitcases. When the time comes that you leave, I want to have been able to hear the end of that piece."
"You say it like you might not if I don't play it now."
"I have the experience to know that things always need to have been finished and heard in case of disaster." As Sherlock said that, he turned to John and a silent conversation passed between them. There is so much to learn from these two.
"Fine." Amelie began to play after that and a sad melody broke out from the song she played before. Its tortuous tune brought both John and Sherlock back to looking at Amelie. She didn't even notice that Sherlock sat in front of her studying the notes she played, committing them to memory. Instead she focused on how lovely the strings felt on her fingers and the deep resonance the violin produced. The song moved through the twisting patterns into a faster and more lifting pace. As if someone were running towards a light at the end of a tunnel. The speed slows down again after its climax and a lost sounding air came into the room. Even after the light, it still doesn't mean you find what you are looking for. The song came to a soft end and Amelie set the violin down, without looking up. She notices certain wetness on her cheek that could have only been caused by a tear. As if in confirmation, she saw a drop fall into her open hands. I haven't played that song since Granddad's funeral.
"Thank you."
Startled by how close the detective was without her knowing she looked sharply up. "Yes, well I suppose I didn't have much of a choice of playing or not. Now, when are we going to work on my dilemma?"
Sherlock looked closely at Amelie before standing up and climbing back into his seat with his violin. "Tomorrow. Tonight, you sleep."
"I function just fine without sleep."
John was the one who piped up this time. "Amelie, you haven't worked with Sherlock Holmes before. I have. Trust me when I say, take this one night to sleep because until we finish your problem, there will be little time to do so."
Amelie gave her best glare at the military doctor, but he wouldn't back down. That isn't fair. "Fine", and without a word Amelie flopped over on her side and pulled the blanket back up around her. John chuckled again and she could hear him get up and walk over to her.
"Amelie?"
"Yes, doctor." Amelie was careful to really draw out that word.
"You don't have to sleep now. It is only seven at night."
Cursing herself silently, Amelie sat up and turned towards John. "Oh," was all she could muster to say.
"Would you like something to eat?"
Just as she was about to say no, her stomach grumbled in protest. Yelling at her stomach for being so loud she turned up to look at John. "I suppose I would."
John smiled kindly at Amelie before heading out into the kitchen. "Anything you want in particular?"
"Food."
John's head peered around the corner to look accusingly at Amelie. "I can think of a lot of things that could be food and you wouldn't like one bit."
We are going to vague threats now. I feel accepted already. What do I actually want, though? "I would like eggs."
"Eggs? What kind?"
"There are different types of eggs?"
John gave her a sad look which Amelie didn't understand before saying, "Yes. Plenty of different kinds. Scrambled, sunny-side-up, boiled, hard yolk, just whites, you name it, kid."
Amelie furrowed her brows at the choices he gave her. "Scrambled sounds most interesting. Let's go with that."
"Anything else?"
"Ketchup and toast on the side, please."
"Ketchup?"
John asked that rather incredulously. "Yes, of course. Anything new I am going to eat, I eat with ketchup."
"Alright, scrambled eggs, toast, and ketchup coming up."
I feel this is rather childish. Like, I should know what scrambled eggs are and- A yelling of John's name interrupted Amelie's thought. Must Sherlock be so loud?
"John!"
"What?"
"I would like the same thing as our guest."
"I'm not your chef, Sherlock."
"John, please", Sherlock whined.
John, with spatula in hand, just threw his hands up and said, "Alright! You are so getting the milk next time, though."
All Sherlock did to reply was smirk and say, "No I'm not," very quietly.
"I heard that," came yelled from the kitchen.
Sherlock looked like he was just caught stealing the crown jewels as John stood with his arms crossed in the doorway. He relented to the soldier's glare fairly easily. "Fine, fine, fine... Just once, though."
"Good", and with that John walked back to the kitchen to finish making the eggs and toast.
Amelie stared between the two men and couldn't help, but shake her head. Not a couple, but definitely could be. I swear if that wasn't the most domestic thing I have ever heard, I don't know what to think.
Sherlock seemed to hear Amelie's thoughts and simply said, "He's not gay", then went back to plucking at his violin.
"Never said he was." Amelie received no answer from Sherlock except a little twitch at the corner of his mouth. "Thank you, by the way."
"For what?"
"For saving me at the airport, for giving me a place to stay, and for allowing me to touch that beautiful instrument."
"The first was necessary as your information on Moriarty was vital to helping me. The second was only a payment for the information and the third. I wanted to hear you finish your piece. That couldn't have been done without you touching it of course."
"Logical. Yet, I appreciate all of it still."
"Illogical. Yet, I feel as though I should say you are welcome."
"Definitely illogical" and Amelie began to truly smile for the first time in a tremendously long while. She was passing through old memories of happy moments when a plate was gently set on her lap. The yellow puffiness and vibrant red gave the meal a pleasant look. The toast had marmalade on it. I loved marmalade. Breathing deep to make sure every aroma becomes inhaled and remembered for future reference, Amelie took her first bite of scrambled eggs smothered in ketchup. "Mmmm." Did I make that noise? She opened her eyes that she didn't realize she had closed to look at the other two occupants of the room. John looked at her with that smile of his and Sherlock... Sherlock was just as involved in the meal as she was.
"This is really good. Thank you, Doctor."
John's smile grew even more when he heard that. "You are quite welcome."
Another mouthful slipped into her mouth and another. She made quick work on the toast in between bites and soon enough, when Amelie went to stab another egg part, her fork came up empty. A frown became quite prominent on her face and John had noticed.
"Cleared your plate rather quickly, "John said smugly.
"Yes, well. It was good and I was hungry. I didn't have time to savor it and put it in my bank of things to remember, though." Again, a frown came back as Amelie looked at her empty plate. "Could you make more?"
A deep voice came from behind John and said, "For me, as well, please."
John turned quickly around and saw Sherlock's polished plate. "Really? I, uh, of course." As John said that, he took both Sherlock's and Amelie's plates and rushed off to the kitchen to supply them with more eggs and toast.
"I have never had something so seemingly unappealing be appealing before," Sherlock announced.
"That's the magic of ketchup. It can make the eating of the unborn so much tastier."
"Eating of the- oh. Eggs. That is a clever way to put it."
"If you didn't notice, Mister Holmes, I am quite clever."
"Indeed, you are."
The pair stayed quiet until John came back with fresh orders. Then, a few thank you's were tossed about and the sound of silver against porcelain became the noise for the next couple of minutes.
This has definitely been committed to memory. Amelie made a drum out of her stomach as she sat back content. "Doctor Watson, you are miracle cooker. That was excellent."
"I can also make a killer beans on toast if you are ever up for it."
Amelie scrunched her nose at the thought, but if the doctor said it was good, then she may just be up to try it.
"John."
"Yes, Sherlock?"
"Make sure we have a plentiful supply of ketchup from now on."
"Already on my list, next to milk, which, by the way, you are still getting."
Sherlock only smiled and curled into a ball around his violin. A few notes came around now and then as he plucked at the strings, but it seemed like a content tune. The rest of the night passed with very little said. Amelie soon grew tired and went to go change into her oversized Journey shirt and sweatpants, while putting up her dirty blonde locks into a messy bun. As she came out she made sure to stay quiet as she saw Sherlock staring contentedly at John while he had closed his eyes in rest. John isn't gay. Sherlock never said anything, though. The thought was only fleeting as she crossed the room and eyed Sherlock in her peripherals. He had hastily gone back to his violin and started plucking away different chords with no pattern. The consulting genius is more of a teenager than I am. Amelie made her way over to the couch, but saw that John had looked extremely uncomfortable in passing him. "What do you think detective?"
Startled out of somewhere deep in his mind Sherlock replied quickly with a, "What do you mean?"
Amelie sighed and looked pointedly at the doctor. "Do you think we should wake him or leave him be?"
Sherlock crinkled his nose at the thought of moving John, but decided that he would rather have John comfortable than easy to occasionally glance at. "Wake the doctor up."
Amelie nodded in agreement and padded over to the sleeping John. "Doctor. Doctor Watson," Amelie whispered with a gentle shove. The doctor stayed steadfast in his sleep, though.
"Oh for god's sake, Amelie, he was a military doctor. Slept through the night in a war zone, don't think being gentle with him is going to wake him up, do you?"
"I... No, I suppose not. You wake him up, then."
"Me?"
"Who else? The skull?"
Sherlock looked longingly at the skull and wished it could do the task of waking John. "Why me?"
"You obviously know a lot more about the doctor and I can't seem to wake him up without yelling at him. I don't want to have to be rude on my first night. So, it comes down to you, Sherlock."
"Fine. I do not yell, though." As Sherlock said this, he pulled his bow from the chair and made a horrid screeching noise across the violin strings. John woke with a start, and then fell back groggily into the chair.
"Good lord, Sherlock. How long have I been out?"
"Around one hour. We decided you would be better off in your own bed."
"I'm glad you decided that, my neck already feels terrible."
"Up you go doctor." Sherlock beckoned him to the stairs after pulling John out of the chair.
"Sherlock, 'm so tired," John said sluggishly.
Sherlock tilted his head thoughtfully before asking, "Do you need me to carry you?"
"I don't think you could manage. It has been awhile since I was on the army regiment and a little too much tea."
"Is that a challenge, Doctor Watson?"
"Don't you even try. I can do it, just gotta get my eyes opened long enough to get up the stairs."
A low chuckle escaped from the detective. "Go on John, I don't need you falling asleep on the floor. I may trip over you."
"So thoughtful of you," and with that the doctor trudged up the stairs with a few snickers.
Amelie watched all of this with a knowing eye. Best friends, obviously, and Sherlock happens to have a prominent crush on his short friend. Sentiment and relationships were an area in Amelie's life that were severely left untouched, but she can see what love looks like. All the small teases between the two, bickering over milk, the way John looks at Sherlock as he orchestrates a song on his violin and the way Sherlock looks at him when John can't see. The signs are all there. There is no need for a physical relationship here. The emotional one is definitely strong enough. Sweet, I suppose.
"Goodnight Doctor Watson," Amelie called upstairs. She heard a muffled response of some kind and decided that was good enough for her to go to sleep to. The flat turned dark as she switched off the lamp and noticed a figure standing beside the window in a dressing gown with a violin. I thought he went to bed. "Sherlock?"
The figure turned around and asked, "Amelie?"
"Good night."
The detective stayed silent and turned to go his room. Amelie took it as a good night in itself and went to lie down on the couch. That is why she became surprised at seeing a thin ray of light come from the opening door of the detectives' bedroom. "Good night to you, as well, Amelie." Then, the door closed with a click and the flat plunged into silence. The silence wasn't as lonely as it has been for years, though. Underneath it there was soft snoring from upstairs, a sound of a television downstairs and a faint note every so often that comes from the plucking of a violin. I'm really glad that I had a bomb related object in my bag. Mrs. Hudson was right. People do need to be taken care of.
Sometime early in the morning a certain detective slipped out of his bedroom and into the living room as he hears a cry. With him, he towed a violin and sat down across from a restless, yet sleeping girl. Quietly he began to play a piece that he had just heard that day. He adds a few notes and extra chords here and there, but the piece remains almost original. The girl stirs from her sleep and mumbles, "That sounds nice." The detective thinks of stopping, but just continues to play the piece. The girl falls back into a deep and calm slumber and the detective finishes the music as he is sure he did his job. Silently, he slips back into his bedroom and sits down on his bed. Packing away the violin with a loving touch and placing it underneath his bed the detective falls into the comfort of his pillows. Why he helped the girl out, he will never know, but inside he feels like he did the right thing. That feeling stayed with him all the way to the moment he closed his eyes and continued on into his dreams.
