Amelia ducked her head as she avoided her target's kicking right foot. Who the hell is this? Gonzales? No, that was last week. This must be the Haitian, Montase. Funny how everyone looks the same in the complete darkness. She quickly lifted her hands, grasped his upraised foot, and jerked him off balance. He fell on his side, howling in pain as he landed on her conveniently placed knife. Amelia rolled him to his stomach and placed her foot, currently encased in a rather fabulous pair of peacock blue heels, on the back of his neck. "I keep telling you people to leave me the hell alone" Amelia practically spitted at him in Egyptian. "Moriarty had me against my will. If you want revenge, get it against someone who wanted to work with that psycho."

"Who are you talking about? I don't even know you, how can I be seeking revenge against a person that I do not know?" The man's voice reeked with desperation.

Amelia wished that she could see his face to determine if he was telling the truth or not. But the icy feeling that was starting to run through her veins suggested that she believed him on a rudimentary level. She decided that further interrogation was necessary. Her plans were dashed when, as soon as some weight was lifted off his neck, the target reached for the knife and attempted to slice her Achilles heel. Amelia mentally sighed and pushed her stiletto heel in between two of his vertebrae. Pity, I just had these cleaned. And now who am I supposed to interrogate? It's not like dead men talk. Mycroft? Yeah right, I'd have more luck with the dead man. Considering the evening, Amelia decided that it will be ending on a mixed note. As she bent over to retrieve her knife, she heard some very familiar voices. Smiling, Amelia knew exactly who she could turn to.

Lately, John Watson was not a fan of how easily adaptable Sherlock Holmes was. The last time Sherlock was this bored; John had to hide the bullets to his gun. Mrs. Hudson charged the men twice every time there was a new bullet hole in her wall, once for the repairs and once to cover the emotional damage of being startled with every gunshot. Neither Sherlock nor John questioned this. The unfortunate difference between the two was that John preferred that Sherlock just stopped shooting the damn wall. Sherlock preferred to pay the extra charges and after having his bullets taken from him almost two years ago, kept a secret stash somewhere in the flat. So, this evening, John somehow talked Sherlock into taking a walk.

John determined that it was the worst decision he'd ever made.

"John, why are we walking where there are no people? This is boring. I thought we were walking to distract me from my boredom. Let's go by people, John, I feel the need to deduce. Tonight may be the night that I might actually find someone surprising instead of dull."

"We are walking away from people because I cannot trust that you won't say something offensive to the next dull individual we stumble across."

"I wouldn't do that."

"You already did and have the handprint on your face as proof."

"Is that why my cheek stings a bit? I was wondering."

"You honestly deleted that already?"

"Not worth remembering, John. That space could be used for more important information, like who is on the roof of that church?"

"What?" John turned his head toward the darkened church.

Sure enough, there was a figure dragging an object toward the bell tower. Without speaking, John and Sherlock ran to the building. "How'd they get in?" yelled John.

"I suppose they might have gone through the backdoor seeing as how it is wide open."

"Oh shut up, Sherlock. My eyes aren't what they used to be."

"Ah, the receding skills of the elderly, you know, eyesight is actually the second ability to deteriorate as you age."

"What's the first?"

"Can't remember."

Their conversation ceased once they walked through the open door. Sherlock led John behind the pulpit and to the discreet set of stairs. Climbing up, Sherlock pointed at the ladder that would take them to the catwalk and started up. Judging by the dust, John figured that the only use for the catwalk was to replace the light bulbs. Still, it was useful as John heard the approaching footsteps and the subsequent dragging of whatever the figure had. John knew Sherlock was hoping for a dead body and frankly, so did John. Their curiosity was soon fulfilled when the corpse of a man dropped in front of their feet. Looking up, both men gaped at the face that popped up over the rafters. Amelia smiled sweetly and waved. "Hi guys, I heard you were bored."

Neither John nor Sherlock uttered a sound as Amelia climbed down like a seasoned gymnast. She stared back at the duo as she slipped her heels back on. "Out for a late night stroll?"

"Amelia, what the fuck?" Sherlock had apparently found his voice again. "Mycroft told you to stop your little assassin business. He can barely keep you safe as it is!"

"Ah, dear brother, it appears there are happenings that you are unaware of. I will fill you in on all of it for a price."

"Which is?"

"I need your help."

The walk back to Baker Street went remarkably quickly. Initially, Sherlock wanted to dispose of the body before it was discovered during tomorrow morning's mass. Once Amelia admitted that Mycroft would have his people take care of it, Sherlock grabbed her by the elbow and practically ran her back to his flat. Amelia scarcely had time to text Mycroft the details before she found herself barreling into 221B and flung on the couch. Sherlock and John sat at their respective chairs, both with looks of steely resignation. "Alright, start from the beginning."

So Amelia did.

Six months earlier.

Amelia stretched the kink out of her neck as she slid in the last tray. She couldn't remember the last time she made Bakewell Tarts, but opening day of her new bakery, The Sweet Retreat, seemed appropriate. "So tell me again why we aren't filling this case?"

Following her gaze to the source of the query, Amelia looked at her new barista, Jane. In addition to the irony of it, Amelia hired the small blonde when she rattled off the recipe for every coffee drink that Amelia could offer. It also helped that Jane's boyfriend, Colin, worked for The London Tea Company and promised to be Amelia's personal contact for ordering supplies. At 5 foot even and elven features, Jane appeared to be sweet and unassuming, until one realized that Jane was the youngest child and only daughter in a household of 8 brothers. That very morning, when Amelia picked Jane up from home, she witnessed Jane picking up two of her teenage nephews and physically threw them back in the house. Amelia had no reservations about Jane's ability to do the duties of the job. "Most of our breakfast items can't be put in the bake case so we'll finish filling the case later this morning."

As Jane nodded her accession, Amelia ran through her mental list. She should have all of the ingredients for at least 3 different flavors of fairy cakes, 2 different tarts, and 5 biscuits. Amelia could not help but feel like she was missing something when the door opened. Her first customer was a middle aged man in a non-designer suit. Amelia had him pegged within seconds. He's in middle management with lazy staff and a micromanaging boss. The man has delusions of grandeur, which explains his suit. Purchased at a discount shop that specializes in replicating new styles with cheap fabrics and practically slave labor. This man is going to be a pain in my ass. He scanned the bake case. "Where are your croissants?"

Oh fuck. Amelia mentally steeled herself. "I'm sorry sir. But unfortunately, my supplier did not deliver my preferred ingredients for croissants. Hopefully they will be here tomorrow."

"WHAT! I cannot start my day without a croissant! What kind of imbecile are you that you can't make a croissant? Now my day is ruined because of you!"

Amelia took a deep breath and gripped her hands under the counter. She had already thought of three ways of killing this self-important douchebag. Throw the freshly brewed coffee in his face and stab him in the jugular with the plastic menu holder. Face plant him through the glass of the bake case, but that would be quite the costly move. Finally, use the piping bag for frosting, jam it under the skin, and blow in a substantial air bubble. "Again, I apologize, but there is nothing I can do when the supplier is out of certain ingredients and…"The man refused to listen to another word and stormed out of the door as a young couple walked in. "Don't even bother here. It is run by utter morons!"

Jane watched him leave and shook her head. "He must have a breezy life if a lack of a croissant destroys his entire day."

Taking another deep breath, Amelia counted to ten before smiling at the new customers. "Sorry you had to see that, apparently that man has an unhealthy attachment to croissants."

The young couple seemed unruffled. "Quite alright" responded the male counterpart. "What would you recommend instead?"

They settled for two Scotch eggs and a tart to go. As they turned to go, the woman turned her head. "Don't let that jerk get you down either, this place looks quite amazing."

Amelia breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you so much, tell your friends!"

After the surprising morning rush, Amelia sat in her office and confirmed with her supplier that her croissant ingredients will be at the bakery by the next day. She leaned back and closed her eyes. Amelia had spent the better part of the last year getting her business running. There were so many regulations that she had to work around. She was extremely close to just giving up at least 4 or 5 times but kept going out of sheer stubbornness. Amelia needed this bakery to function as it was her only cover from Mycroft. Her older brother was being infuriatingly silent about the group who was planning Amelia's imminent demise. Amelia could not expel any creative energy, well, creative to her. At the end of the day, Amelia knew that the bakery would be worth it and she would start hunting down her would-be assassins. But for now, she was just so bloody bored. And when Amelia got bored and was unable to get into some trouble, she was forced to think about her life, specifically, John.

She really did not want to think about her and John until they figured out whatever it was they were doing. But then again, they were not doing anything. Then that would mean that they were nothing. Before Amelia could fully submerge herself into a pity party, the call with the supplier ended. Amelia practically ran out of her office and into the front. "Please tell me that there is another rush."

Jane was bent over the front counter. "No, nothing, not one person. I'm going to waste away!" Jane slid herself off the counter, landed on the floor, and dramatically draped her arms over her face.

Amelia gazed impassively at her barista. "Please wash your hands when you get up. I'd hate to break a health regulation on my first day."

The front door opened. "Thank god!" cried Jane, hopping up. "What can I get for you, sir?"

Before the man could answer, Amelia piped up. "He will have black tea, no sugar, and some dry toast. He's on a diet."

Jane glared at her boss. "Why not try our breakfast special? It is much more delicious." And twice the cost.

"I'm afraid my dear brother is on a diet. Hello, Mycroft."

Mycroft nodded a greeting at both Amelia and Jane. He shifted the stack of files from on hand to the other. "Actually, just the tea for me. Amelia, could we meet in your office? I have some important information to go over with you."