A/N: Lookie, I made a another. Thank you for the kind reviews on my first one. It's good getting feedback from readers and knowing if I'm doing something right or not. This is my second fic and my alter ego, Amelia is back. This time on Sherlock's turf. This one is also a one-shot, though I might make a backstory. Not too sure.

Anyway, disclaimer: I own nothing, but Amelia and this little plot bunny. Enjoy!

Things were quiet on Baker Street. Too quiet for certain sociopath in 221b.

John had gone grocery shopping, leaving Sherlock with explicit instruction to not shoot the wall.

"We can' t afford to have our rent raised again, Sherlock."

That coupled with a stern warning from Mrs. Hudson had gotten the message across. However, this made for rather bored Sherlock, who had taken to annoying their American guest. Amelia, thankfully, had faired just fine with him and his deductions. Though she did feel slightly disturbed when he correctly deduced her fear of flying and the fact that she had a row with her mother before leaving for London.

After arguing the ethics of prying into other people's lives, a lull began to settle between the two of them. The consulting detective was sprawled on the couch, while Amelia was at the desk on John's laptop (with his permission, of course). She reached down and rubbed her right calf. For the fifteenth time today. Sherlock kept count. He had been staring at her for the most part and she noticed.

Without turning to look at him, she told him, "If you don't stop staring, I will turn around and poke your eye out with a pen".

Sherlock was doubtful. "You'll have to find the pen first."

Unfortunately, he had a point. The place was so messy it would be a miracle to find anything, let alone a pen. Amelia only let out a little sigh, not really intent on fulfilling her threat, though God help her she would throw something, anything, if would just get him to stop staring. Ugh!

"Something's wrong with your leg."

It wasn't a question.

A "God help me, he's at it again" look crossed her face before she turned to look at Sherlock and ask, "Excuse me?"

Sherlock tilted his head, staring intently at her leg. "Your leg is bothering you, isn't it? You're not in any severe pain, so it's not the bone. No limp, not the muscle. Skin problem, then? Hmm, wha-"

"Yes, Sherlock," she had cut him off, "My leg is bothering me. I have a rash. But that doesn't bother me as much as you are right now. So do me a favor: shut up."

And with that she turned back to the computer. As she typed she could still feel his gaze on her. She paused. "And stop staring."

She felt his gaze move away and breathed a sigh of relief. She went back to typing.

Click. Click. Click. Clickety-click.

"It's not a rash."

"For God's sake, Sherlock!" she huffed in frustration, then glared at him, "Don't you have something better to do?"

"I'm bored." That seemed to be his standard excuse to do anything to drive her or John crazy.

"Then do something useful, like solving a case!" she said, then noted the look on his face and added, "Don't tell me there aren't any. Mycroft has been texting John all morning."

"His cases are dull,"

Amelia sighed and leaned back in her chair. There was just no pleasing this man.

"How does John put up with you?" It was a question that came out on it's own. She didn't mean to say out loud, but there it was.

Sherlock didn't seem offended. "He likes the thrill, the adventures, as he calls them. He's a soldier longing for action, for a challenge."

He met her gaze. "You like a challenge, too,"

"Oh yes, staring at dead bodies all day and chasing serial killers. I'd love it," she replied sarcastically as she turned back to the computer. But Sherlock saw the corner of her mouth twitch upwards.

"You should have John look over your new tattoo. It might be serious," he commented casually.

She looked back at him and was about to say something when the door opened. John had returned. Thank God. He made his way in with a load of groceries. Amelia got up to help.

"Here, let me get those,"

John protested a bit at first ("Really, it's fine. You're our guest!"), but eventually gave in. As they started to put away things, John asked if her if Sherlock had been a nuisance. Amelia snorted.

"Understatement of the year, John,"

"Yeah, I know. Sorry 'bout that. Didn't do any damage, did he?"

"No. I'm fine. He's a bit of challenge to put up with, but it's fine." She smirked, "I like a challenge."

And she didn't even have to turn around to know that he was smirking, too.

A/N: And there you have it. Click on the little link below and review! Constructive criticism is welcome. Any flames will be given to Sherlock to experiment on. Thank you.