The Six Thatchers, Part 1
To say that Amelia was tired would be an understatement, her eyes felt as though she had sand in them, her eye makeup long since washed away after she had made the mistake of accidently reaching up to rub her eyes, resulting in smearing it on her hands and around her eyes. It had been beyond repair by then, so she had used tissues from her handbag in the hospital bathroom to try and clean up her face as best as possible. Needless to say, it hadn't been overly successful, but at least she didn't look like a crying clown any longer, just a completely drained, exhausted woman who hadn't slept properly in over a week and was trying to keep herself together while her boyfriend moaned and complained that he was perfectly fit after almost dying from a drug overdose. She supposed that when she considered everything that she had endured over the past few hours, let alone the past week since said boyfriend murdered someone in front of her and then ended up exiled to certain death, ruined makeup was the least of her concerns right now.
She yawned into her palm as she sat sideways in the armchair Sherlock usually favoured in the living room of Baker Street, her nose still stinging with the lingering scent of hospital that seemed to have clung itself to her clothing and hair, her legs curled beneath her, still dressed in the same black dress that she had worn to the airport to see Sherlock off earlier that day. She felt as though she could sleep for a month quite happily, her emotions utterly drained to the point that she couldn't even seem to bring herself to feel annoyed by Sherlock's constant pacing up and down the living room, his face screwed up with annoyance. He was still sulking over the fact that Mycroft had practically threatened to send him back to a prison cell unless he kept his head down for the next couple of days, just until he had officially managed to secure his little brother's pardon. Until then, Sherlock was technically still a criminal and therefore under house arrest, something that hadn't gone down well with the curly haired detective.
It also didn't help matters that Sherlock was still coming down from his high. The withdrawal symptoms had hit him shortly after they had left the airport and John, with Amelia's help, had managed to force Sherlock to go to hospital and get seen to properly by a doctor. He had been seen rather quickly and checked over, before being declared, shockingly; to be fit and healthy after coming so close to almost dying, save for the withdrawal symptoms. Shaking hands, mild confusion, hot and cold chills…he had been given something to calm him down and to help with nausea, but despite all of their attempts to try and make him stay in overnight, Sherlock refused to listen and insisted that he return to Baker Street. And so…here they were, Sherlock pacing and Amelia watching from her sleep deprived stupor.
"This is ridiculous," Sherlock growled as he paced furiously, running an aggressive hand through his hair, glaring angrily at the closed curtains over the darkened window, "I am fine! We have a case, Moriarty has something planned and we're wasting time…!"
"Mycroft said it will only take a couple of days, Sherlock," Amelia sighed warily, struggling against the urge to close her eyes and let her head drop onto the armrest of the chair, her coat draped over her legs like a blanket, "Once you've calmed down slightly…" she cast him a quick, assessing look at that, eyeing how aggressively every move he made seemed to be, "…I'm sure you'll get your pardon and we can start working the case properly, until then…"
"I am calm, Amelia, I am perfectly calm! How am I not calm?"
She lifted her head slightly to meet his eyes as he stopped next to her chair, glaring down at her, though it was clear that he wasn't upset with her, exactly, "I don't think you want me to answer that," she told him lightly, making him narrow his eyes even more. She sighed and forced herself to sit up, running a hand through her loosened hair, "Look, can you just sit down and lower your voice a bit? I feel like I'm on the verge of getting a migraine and your pacing is not helping. God…" she groaned, covering her face with her hands, "Why didn't I take up John's offer to stick around?"
Silence filled the room, broken by the distant noise of an ambulance siren squealing from somewhere in the distance streets of London. It had to be getting on to 3AM by now. Amelia swallowed down the urge to break down into tears as she breathed heavily into her hands, the back of her throat burning and her eyes stinging from sheer exhaustion, while her brain felt foggy and disconnected to the rest of the world. She didn't want to cry, she hated crying, but right now she felt as though she could do nothing but cry when everything felt so overwhelming right now. She just couldn't seem to get control over herself. Cool hands suddenly touched her wrists and she flinched at the touch, her head snapping up, but at the sight of Sherlock eyeing her with an almost guilty expression, kneeling on the floor before her, she felt herself relax slightly.
"Amelia," he said softly, his long fingers circling her wrists, gently easing them away from her face, "Go to bed, you need to sleep".
"I can't. You literally just relapsed after six years of sobriety, Sherlock, how do I know you're not going to go running off into the streets the second I close my eyes and get high again?"
"I'm not going to do that," he rolled his eyes at her, as though she was being an idiot for even thinking that. If Amelia hadn't been fighting the urge to cry already, she would have glared at him, "I've got a case".
Amelia scoffed, "I'm pretty sure addiction doesn't work that way," she said, her voice sounding higher than normal and, much to her own horror, tears slipped down her cheek. No! She wouldn't cry, she would not cry….She squeezed her eyes shut, willing her tears to dry up, "This isn't fair," she breathed weakly, "I feel like I'm losing my mind right now and you're so…so…you!"
"Amelia," he said again, this time firm enough to make her open her watering eyes, finding him watching her with a oddly concerned, tender expression that was so rare to see on his face. He even reached up to cup her cheek, "Don't be absurd, you're not losing your mind, you're just sleep deprived and stressed. You need to sleep…"
"No...!"
"…and calm down," he went on over the top of her, his expression unchanged, "I'm…sorry," he sighed, looking briefly pained by even saying the word, lowering his gaze from hers down onto her curled keens, "Everything that happened today…" he paused, while she waited patiently, knowing that he was trying to bring himself to say something that he wasn't comfortable with saying aloud, but something he felt he needed to say. He inhaled slowly through his nose and looked back up into her face, his thumb lightly running across her cheekbone, "I'm sorry you had to see me like that".
Amelia swallowed, hard, thinking back to his glassy eyes and muttering about having to go back and solve some crime in 1895, "Yeah," she said softly, "So am I. It was…worse then I imagined".
Sherlock eyed her carefully for a second longer, before he dropped his hand from her cheek and rose, but he didn't walk away, he hesitated before bending down and placing a tender, sweet kiss to the top of her head. Amelia blinked and lifted her head to look up to him in surprise, but he had already turned away from her, walking around her chair and across to the left-hand window, peeling the curtain back to peer down into the street, his face carefully turned away from her so that she couldn't read his expression. At his side, she noticed his left hand shaking slightly before he clenched it.
"I meant it, you know," his voice drifted quietly through the room, still carefully turned away from her, "What I said before I got on the plane".
"I know, William," she smiled very slightly, using his proper first name, feeling as though it suited him best in this moment. Sherlock Holmes was who the world knew, the man with the ingenious brain and skill of deduction, the man seemingly incapable of understanding even basic human emotion, but William Sherlock Scott Holmes was all of that and more, more that he seemed to only ever show to her when they were alone, capable of being sweet and tender, soft and comforting.
He cleared his throat awkwardly, shifting slightly so that he could glance over his shoulder to her, "Don't expect me to say it again," he warned her, giving her a glare that held little emotion behind it. It was more like a mask he used to try and hide his vulnerability, "Regardless of what I might have said, I am not a sentimentalist, Amelia".
Amelia laughed slightly at that, shifting slightly in her chair so she could see him properly without having to twist her neck, "I would be rather disappointed if you were," she told him with a fond smile, knowing it was true. It was who he was, just because he might have expressed to her that he loved her, it didn't suddenly turn him into a romantic. Something else occurred to her and she sat up straighter, eyeing him closely, "Earlier, back on the plane when you first landed, you said that you were in your Mind Palace trying to solve the Ricoletti case from 1895. You kept saying that you had to get back".
Sherlock turned around from the window, frowning very slightly as he looked distractedly over towards the unlit fireplace, "It was just a dream," he said absently.
"You didn't think it was. Tell me about it".
His eyes snapped over to her, narrowed slightly, "Why?"
"Because it was so real to you at the time".
He was silent for a long moment, regarding her carefully, before he sighed and moved across the room to settle himself in John's old chair. He looked slightly odd sitting in it, somehow to big and tall to fit into it properly, but he didn't seem to care overly much as he looked back across to her, resting his arms on the slightly frayed armrests.
"It was…real, for a while," he agreed, frowning again, "Everything was same as it was here, but…different, Victorian. You were all there, you and John, Mary, Mycroft…even Lestrade…"
Amelia lifted an eyebrow, feeling slightly more awake now, "I swear, Holmes, if you made me into your maid or something…" she began warningly, pointing a painted red fingernail at him.
"We were married, Amelia," he cut across her, rolling his eyes at her. She blinked at that, looking taken aback as she dropped her hand back onto her lap, "And…" he hesitated, before sighing, "We had children".
"Children?" she practically gaped at him, her eyes widening in shock.
"Twins, actually," he suddenly narrowed his eyes on her, "Don't read too much into it, Amelia. I was high".
"Sherlock, you dreamed that we were married and had kids, twins, in fact, how am I supposed to read that?"
Sherlock sighed in exasperation and closed his eyes, "And this is why I never intended to tell you," he muttered, opening his eyes to fix her with an annoyed look, "Amelia, it was a dream induced by the drugs and my own subconscious. Forget about it".
Amelia didn't say anything at first, attempting to wrap her head around the idea that Sherlock had actually dreamed about her and him being together, married and with…twins. How was she supposed to not read something more into that, especially when he admitted himself that it was a part of his own subconscious? But even she could acknowledge that now was not the time to be discussing kids, though she suspected that Sherlock wouldn't be completely opposed to the idea if she did bring it up to him, there surely had to be a part of him that considered fatherhood if he had dreamed about being a dad. She licked her lips, pushing aside the urge to try and ask more questions about what their marriage was like in his dream, where they happy? How long had they been together in the dream? Was she even still a detective? She supposed that she mustn't be, given the era.
"What were their names?" she asked, unable to resist against the urge to ask, curious to hear more about how he might have pictured a life and family with her, even if it was in the Victorian age.
He looked rather reluctant at first, "William and Agatha".
She nodded slowly, considering the names with interest, Agatha had certainly never been her pick for a girl name, she preferred Scarlet or Josephine, after her mother, but she could understand why Sherlock would have picked the name, given her love for Agatha Christie's novels, and as for William…well, he knew that it was her favourite boys name, it was just lucky that he happened to share it. She wanted to ask more questions, what did they look like? How old were they? Did he like being a father? But she thought better of asking, he hadn't seemed very keen on even telling her their names, let alone going into detail. And it wasn't as if they were real.
"I don't blame you, for wanting to escape from reality," she found herself saying softly, swallowing hard as she dropped her gaze onto her lap, her fingers toying with the button on her coat draped over her, "I don't approve of what you did," she added sharply, lifting her gaze back up to him, any hint of the fatigue she felt overcome by her anger at the memory, "I never, ever want to see you like that again and I know that it probably will happen again, you're an addict, it happens. But I hate it; it broke my heart seeing you like that".
Sherlock didn't say anything, watching her, but she did notice that he swallowed hard at her words, his expression softening slightly. Guilt? Regret? Both perhaps, as well as a number of other emotions she was currently too tired to try and read.
"I don't want you to make promises to me you can't be expected to keep, but I do want you to understand just how much your sobriety means to me, Sherlock. To me, and everyone else who loves you, because you have so many people who only want the best for you," she reached across their chairs and covered his hand as it rested on his armrest, his hand trembling very slightly beneath hers, "You're not alone, Sherlock. You are never alone, okay?"
He stared back at her, before he lowered his gaze, looking oddly touched and almost emotional by her words. Amelia could understand that, she didn't expect he had ever had someone actually look him in the eye and tell him, directly to his face, that he mattered so much. He had spent so much of his life alone, partly due to his own choice, but also largely due to the fact that no one had ever understood him, and then John and Amelia came into his life. The first two people, outside of his own family, who showed him even a hint of friendship and acceptance, something that even Sherlock Holmes couldn't deny that he needed.
Sherlock cleared his throat after a long moment, regarding her closely, suddenly looking like himself again, "You need to sleep, Amelia," he told her again, his voice softer, gentle, "Sleep deprivation obviously makes you even more absurdly sentimental then normal".
Amelia sighed at that, rolling her eyes this time, "And I told you, I can't sleep knowing you could…"
"So we go to bed together," he cut across her, sounding almost impatient, rising from his seat. He held his hand out to her, waiting, "It's very obvious that I'm not going to be getting any work done tonight, thanks to Mycroft, and you are going to make yourself sick. Besides, you're rubbish company if you can barely keep your eyes open".
"Charming, Sherlock," she shot him a dark look, which was interrupted by the sudden need to yawn. She covered her mouth with her hand, her eyes watering as she opened them again, "How do I know you won't just sneak out once I'm asleep?" she eyed him closely, dropping her hand back into her lap.
He met her eyes firmly, looking completely sincere, "I promise I won't".
"And I'm supposed to just simply trust that? I'm not a child, nor am I naïve. An addict will say anything; do anything, to get their fix".
"We could always handcuff ourselves to each other".
"Okay, I am way too tired right now to be able to tell if that is your serious idea to a solution right now".
"Amelia," he sighed, "Trust me. Please".
Amelia looked at him closely, struggling against the overwhelming desire to just simply go along with it so that she could sink into the bed she shared with Sherlock, lack of sleep now starting to make her eyesight blurred and she desperately just wanted to take her contacts out. She tried to focus on his body language, his hand still stretched towards her for her to take, his expression open and sincere, with a hint of inpatients. Of course, Sherlock was also a fantastic actor when needed, but she was beyond tired…even if it was just a trick for him to sneak out and get high again, how much longer would it be before she ended up passing out anyway? In the end, she reached up and took his hand, allowing him to help pull her up from the chair, her coat pooling onto the floor. If he did end up sneaking out, at least she tried to stop him.
…
Mycroft seemed to be able to work miracles, though Amelia would certainly never say such a thing out loud, who knew when he might be listening in and she certainly had little desire to stroke his ego. But she was grateful, because only the day after Sherlock was supposed to be sent to his exile, did Mycroft send them a message informing them that he had secured a meeting for Sherlock to discuss his pardon, his phone call waking her from her dead sleep. She was rather surprised to find Sherlock fast asleep beside her, obviously having spent the entire night in bed with her; in fact she was almost positive he had barely moved. She even had to check that he was breathing, given the fact that he had almost died only a few hours before hand, she thought it was a natural concern to have.
Thankfully, Sherlock was still very much alive, if slightly green now that the medication that he had been given the previous night at the hospital had worn off. Amelia sent him off into the bathroom with a slightly concerned look, before going into the kitchen to make herself a very large, very strong coffee, wrapped up in her royal blue dressing gown. The rest of the morning passed rather quickly, John stopped by to check up on Sherlock and tried to lecture him about behaving himself during his meeting later that day, while Amelia shook her head silently to herself as she pinned her hair up in a neat bun at the base of her neck in the bathroom, John's voice travelling easily as he scolded Sherlock for a seventh flippant comment. Personally, she thought John was wasting his time; Sherlock would always act like Sherlock.
She paused to consider herself in the mirror, she still looked more tired than she wished and slightly drained, but she was rather good at concealing dark circles with makeup after all these years, her lips painted a deep red and her eyes outlined with black kohl, trying to distract from the pallor of her skin. She smoothed her hand down her green, yellow, black, and white tartan skirt that came two inches above her knees, and straightened the plain black, short sleeved jumper she had tucked into the skirt. An emerald and gold necklace stood out clearly against the black of her top, while matching studs were in her ears, while she wore a pair of chunky heeled Mary Janes on her feet. She had gone through several different outfit ideas, she had even asked John and Sherlock to help, which was obviously a waste of time since they had simply looked at her as though she had asked them to fly to the moon and back again. In the end, she'd sent a group text to Mary and Molly asking them which looked better for a top secret meeting before the British Government…er, not quite with those words, since it was supposed to be secret.
By the time ten o'clock had arrived, Amelia and Sherlock made their way downstairs to find a black, shinny town car waiting for them outside the front door. Amelia pulled her black trench coat tighter around her as a cold gust of wind came up, her dark red handbag clasped in her hand as she slid into the backseat of the car, Sherlock sliding in behind her, slamming the door shut. The car drove on towards the Cabinet Office of Whitehall, nothing but the sound of the car's engine thrumming through the air as they sat in silence. Soon enough, they were pulling up outside the large, white bricked building and being escorted inside, meeting with Mycroft within the foyer.
They were taken up stairs into a modern conference room, the walls covered in a light wood panelling and large windows, while a long desk was set up in the same coloured wood along the front of the room. Lady Smallwood and a second man were already seated behind the desk as the detectives and Mycroft entered the room, while a older, grey haired woman sat slightly off to the side of them with a notepad in her lap, watching them silently as Amelia was directed towards a plastic, rather uncomfortably looking, brown chair off to the side of the room. Sherlock was directed towards a second chair placed in the middle of the room, facing towards the desk. Amelia did as she was told, just pleased that she had actually been allowed to come along to the proceedings when in reality she had no reason to be there, save for the fact that she suspected that Mycroft thought she might hold some sway over controlling Sherlock. Obviously, he was gravely mistaken.
Amelia draped her coat over the back of the chair and sat her bag down on the floor, crossing her legs as she took her seat and cast her eyes quickly around the room, noting the projection machine that was set up just behind Sherlock's chair, aimed at the projection screen up on the wall behind the desk, while a second TV screen was set up on a stand opposite the desk, over Sherlock's head, providing two points of viewing. Mycroft remained standing close to Sherlock's chair, pulling a small remote control out of his pocket, pressing a button that dimmed the lights.
"What you're about to see is classified beyond top secret," he told the room, and Amelia sat up slightly straighter as he hit a second button.
She very nearly wished she hadn't been included in the meeting as the projection screens turned on, showing four different perspectives of what happened on the patio of Appledore, just before Sherlock shot Magnusseen. She swallowed hard at the footage, clenching her hands together tightly in her lap to try and stop herself from showing just how much she hated seeing it. It would be burned inside her mind for the rest of her life, she didn't need to see herself on film, standing on the patio beside Sherlock and John, her dark red skirt blowing in the gust of wind from the helicopter hovering in the sky above them, her features set into a pleading, desperate look as she looked at Sherlock in the footage. At the time, she hadn't known what he was about to do, but she had known that he had something in mind; she just hadn't imagined he was literally going to shoot someone.
"Is that clear?" Mycroft continued sternly, pulling her out of her thoughts as she forcibly looked away from the screen. She caught Sherlock's eye, surprised to find that he had been watching her, and he frowned vaguely before he looked away from her, down at his phone in his hands…Seriously, was he actually texting right now? Her phone vibrated in her coat pocket and she closed her eyes in exasperation, he wouldn't be texting her right now, so he must have been tweeting. Mycroft didn't seem to notice, however, looking sharply over towards the older woman sitting off to the side of the desk as she went to put her glasses on, "Don't minute any of this," he instructed her, and she slowly lowered her glasses back down, folding her hands in her lap, "Once beyond these walls, you must never speak of it," he looked across to Lady Smallwood and the second man, "A D-notice has been slapped on the entire incident. Only those within this room, code names Antarctica, Langdale, Porlock, and Love, will ever know the whole truth…"
Amelia bit her lip, glaring at the side of Sherlock's head as Mycroft spoke, wishing she could telepathically tell him to knock it off and actually take this whole thing a little more seriously, his fingers tapping away rapidly on his phone, emitting soft clicking noises that seemed impossible to go unnoticed for the length of the entire meeting. Honestly, this was about his freedom right now and he was frigging tweeting? He hated Twitter, he once spent an entire afternoon lecturing herself and John about how self-absorbed social media was and that it was, in his mind, one of the leading causes for why so many people were turning into utter brainless morons…his words. And now he was tweeting, in the middle of one of the most important meetings of his entire life? God, she just wanted to walk over to him and smack him over the head with her handbag right now.
"…As far as everyone else is concerned," Mycroft was still speaking, totally oblivious to Amelia's murderous glare aimed towards his little brother, "Going to the Prime Minister and way beyond, Charles Augustus…Are you tweeting?" he suddenly exclaimed and turned to glare down at Sherlock, finally noticing the tapping.
Sherlock's head snapped up and he almost guilty covered his phone, "No," he said hastily, even though the sound of him sending off a tweet actually emitted from his phone.
"For God's sake…" Amelia breathed, closing her eyes tightly, reaching up to pinch the bridge of her nose. She could feel that migraine threatening again. How was it that this, this man, the man currently attempting to hide his phone in his own coat and looking as guilty as a six year old caught sneaking biscuits, was her boyfriend? For goodness sake, she could have had her pick of men, she could have dated professional football players, bankers, neurosurgeons…and here she was, dating Sherlock Holmes, the man who couldn't even stop himself from tweeting during a meeting that would save his life.
"Well, that's what it looks like," Mycroft snapped at his little brother, staring at him in disbelief.
"Of course I'm not tweeting," Sherlock tried to shrug it off, giving a slightly breathless little laugh, like he found the idea absurd, "Why would I be tweeting?"
"Give me that," he huffed, suddenly lunging towards Sherlock and grabbing for the phone.
"What?" his eyes widened, "No!" he wrestled against Mycroft's attempts to snatch the phone out of his hand, clutching onto the slim, black device with both hands, "Get off! What are you doing?"
Amelia watched them, looking utterly resigned to the fact that this…this was how her life was going to be until she died, watching Sherlock and Mycroft fighting over a phone, "I…don't even know what to say," she said tiredly, shaking her head slowly, making no move to get up and try to help, "I should have stayed in bed".
"Get off!" Sherlock grunted, his face screwed up as he tried tugging the phone back to him, "What…? Amelia!" he looked across to her, almost making her cringe as she felt the others within the room glance at her, too, "Mind helping?"
"Oh, you are so on your own for this one," she told him, giving him a sarcastic little smile. There was no way she was getting herself involved in that mess, better to just let the Holmes boys deal with their own drama. After all, she wasn't a Holmes; she could avoid the family drama if she choose to.
"Give it here, Sherlock," Mycroft said sternly, just before he finally managed to wretch the phone out of Sherlock's grasp, having been distracted by attempting to call for Amelia's aid. He looked down at the screen and his eyebrows rose as Sherlock sighed loudly, looking sulky, "'Back on terra firma,'" he read aloud, using his finger to scrawl.
Sherlock closed his eyes in exasperation, "Don't read them out," he groaned, looking almost pained.
"'Free as a bird'".
"God," he complained, opening his eyes and resting his elbow on the armrest of his chair, rolling his eyes. He looked like a sulky teenager, "You're such a spoilsport. Even Amelia found it funny…"
Amelia cleared her throat and shifted slightly as Mycroft shot her a quick look, "I did not…" she trailed off as Sherlock looked at her pointedly, sighing as she looked away from them, "Okay, so maybe seeing you two squabbling over a phone was kind of amusing…but you really shouldn't have been tweeting, Sherlock," she fixed him with a stern look, though she knew she had already wasted her chance of having the slightest hint of impact upon him now.
Mycroft gave her a dark look, as though she had disappointed him gravely, before turning to look angrily at his brother, "Will you take this matter seriously, Sherlock?"
"I am taking it seriously," Sherlock replied quickly, giving him an annoyed look, "What makes you think I'm not taking it seriously?"
He lifted the phone back up and looked at the screen, "'Hashtage OhWhatABeautifulMorning,'" he read aloud with a sarcastic hint to his tone, mockingly wobbling his head slightly as he turned to glare back at his brother.
Amelia couldn't help laughing faintly, though she tried hard to disguise it as a cough at the sharp look Mycroft sent her, while Sherlock actually smirked smugly. God, she really wasn't helping here, was she? Yeah, she so should have stayed in bed, less chance of her being accused of actually encouraging Sherlock and his antics, which she wasn't…not intentionally, anyway. She couldn't help it if she found him amusing. She wasn't just dating him for his brains and fantastic cheekbones.
"Look," Sherlock turned back towards his brother, looking quite indignant, "Not so long ago I was on a mission that meant certain death, my death, and now I'm back with my girlfriend…" he looked across to Amelia and actually winked at her, making her blink, startled by the rather uncharacteristic gesture, "In a nice warm office…" he waved his hand around the room, looking back up to Mycroft, "…with my big brother and…Are those ginger nuts?" he suddenly caught sight of a plate of biscuits sitting on the table, his eyes lighting up in delight.
"Oh, God," Mycroft sighed, rolling his eyes upwards. Amelia carefully ducked her head, trying to hide her smile.
Sherlock practically leaped out of his seat and even did a funny little skip on his way over towards the plate, smiling widely, "Love ginger nuts," he commented brightly, grabbing a whole handful of the biscuits from off the plate, "Amelia, look!" he called across the room to her, making her head snap up, finding him practically waving his handful of biscuits around for her to see, "Ginger nuts, your favourite".
"Sherlock…" Amelia said with a hint of wariness to her tone, trying to ignore him wiggling one of the biscuits towards her with a hopeful expression, making him look like an overgrown puppy.
Lady Smallwood, on the other hand, was eyeing Sherlock with a frown, "Our doctor said you were clean," she said, clearly far from amused by his behaviour.
"I am, utterly," he told her calmly, not even bothering to so much as glance at her as he strolled across to Amelia, who really, really wished he would just sit down, smiling embarrassedly when he grabbed her hand and pressed two biscuits into it. He even delicately curled her fingers around them, his touch lingering longer then necessary as he gave her something close to a cheeky smile, before he straightened and whirled back around, moving back towards his chair, "No need for stimulants now, remember?" he looked pointedly at Mycroft, lifting a biscuit up to his lips, "Amelia and I have work to do," he took a loud bit of the biscuit, chewing nosily, knowing it would only annoy him more.
"You're high as a kit!" a second man, sitting beside Lady Smallwood, suddenly exclaimed, staring at Sherlock.
"Natural high, I assure you," he turned towards the man, still chewing his mouthful, holding the rest of his biscuit in his left hand as he waved it around, "Totally natural. I'm just…" he suddenly held out both his arms and sang loudly and dramatically, "…glad to be alive!"
Amelia burst out laughing, almost dropping her biscuits in her lap, incredibly grateful she hadn't been eating at the time. Sherlock grinned and dropped his hands back to his side, though he kept his hand holding his biscuit up close to his face, throwing Amelia a smug grin as she desperately tried to regain her composer. She could practically feel Lady Smallwood and the other man judgment from across the room, both of them looking between the two detectives as though they couldn't tell if they were both insane or just Sherlock. She suspected they were leaning towards both of them being insane, after all, only someone as equally as mental could possibly put up with dating someone like Sherlock.
"What shall we do next, Amelia?" he raised an eyebrow at Amelia, waiting as he took a large bite from his biscuit.
Amelia winced very slightly as Mycroft looked sharply at her, giving her a look that practically assured her that she would end up being exiled from the country unless she thought very carefully about her next words. As much as Mycroft didn't scare her, she wasn't so foolish as to think that he couldn't make her life rather unpleasant if he felt like it. She could almost see the thoughts buzzing around his head of what small, seemingly insignificant annoyances he could manipulate in order to get back at her.
"Um…how about you sit down and behave?" she suggested, turning back to Sherlock with a slightly nervous, strained smile. She wasn't about to test Mycroft's imagination any time soon.
"Boring!" he declared from around his mouthful of biscuit, chewing loudly, when he suddenly paused and pointed across the room, "What's your name?"
The older woman sitting off to the side of the desk blinked slightly in surprise, toying with her hands in her lap, "Vi-Vivian," she replied, slightly nervously as everyone looked at her, too. Amelia deduced easily enough that she wasn't used to being addressed, and certainly not before her superiors, but then again, most secretaries were expected to just sit in the background and take notes.
"What would you do, Vivian?"
Her eyes widened slightly, "Pardon?"
"Well, it's a lovely day," he shrugged lightly, his eyes very bright and oddly excited, "Go for a stroll?" he said, making Lady Smallwood narrow her eyes at him, slowly shaking her head disbelief at what she was hearing, while the man beside her reached up to cover his face with his hand, "Make a paper aeroplane? Have an ice lolly?" he took another bite from his biscuit, completely unconcerned by the reactions of others within the room, including Amelia, who couldn't seem to decide if she felt embarrassed or amused.
"Ice lolly, I suppose".
"Ice lolly it is!" Sherlock almost cheered, gesturing dramatically towards her with both hands. As much as Amelia might have felt conflicted about Sherlock's behaviour, she did have to admit, she loved it when he got this excited, he was just so animated. It was a lovely change from his usual attempt to come off seeming completely emotionless and cold. He dropped his hands back to his side, eyeing the older woman curiously, "What's your favourite?"
Vivian hesitated, glancing warily at her beyond exasperated superiors, "Well, really, I shouldn't…" she began.
He waved a dismissive hand towards the others, "Go on," he told her encouragingly.
She fiddled with the pen in her fingers, looking slightly hopeful, "Do they still do Mivvis?" she asked.
"Mr Holmes," Lady Smallwood finally cut in sternly, looking utterly done with listening to Sherlock's nonsense for any longer. Personally, Amelia was rather impressed she had held her tongue for so long.
"Yes?" Sherlock and Mycroft said in unison, looking across the room to her. Mycroft seemed to realise what they had both said, glancing at his little brother with a small grimace, before shaking his head in annoyance as he glanced down at the floor.
She fixed Sherlock with a very serious, sharp look, before looking at Mycroft, "We do need to get on," she reminded him.
Mycroft lifted his head and nodded, "Yes, of course," he agreed, throwing Amelia a quick look.
She sighed, "Sherlock," she called, catching his attention, still happily chewing his biscuit away. She hadn't so much as taken a nibble from her own, "Please, sit down. It would be rather embarrassing for all of us if I am forced to make you," her tone didn't change in the slightest, though she gave him a sweet smile that didn't reach her eyes.
Sherlock scoffed at that, "And you plan to do that how?"
Her smile didn't waver, but her eyes did grow a touch colder, "Don't test me, Sherlock," she warned him, her voice light and pleasant, but with a steely edge, "Not today, not after everything I've been through the past week. Don't think I won't remind you that I am a Moriarty by blood".
He looked far from concerned by her threat, one eyebrow still arched and something close to amusement in his eyes, though he wasn't fool enough to actually try pushing her, seeing how honest she was being. Amelia was not to be tested right now, while she might have recovered somewhat from her almost emotional breakdown the night before after finally managing to get some sleep, she still felt like she was standing on the edge of snapping if pushed too far, and as amusing as Sherlock had been, she also knew that this meeting was a huge deciding factor in his future, in their future. She wasn't just about to let him completely destroy that by him acting like a child.
Sherlock sighed loudly and rolled his eyes, more in a show of attempting to act as though he wasn't actually doing what his girlfriend had practically commanded him to do, and moved to sit down once more, before he paused. He grabbed his phone back from where Mycroft had placed it on top of the projection machine just behind his chair, mockingly waving it at his brother as he eyed him with a disproving frown. He slipped it back inside his inner breast pocket of his blazer as he dropped carelessly into his seat, crossing one leg over the other. Mycroft cast him one last look, before lifting the remote up towards the screen, restarting the video.
The sound of a helicopters blades swishing through the air filled the room, while the screen was filled with a view of the patio at Appledore from above. On the screen, Sherlock looked away from Amelia's pleading face, turning towards where Magnussen was standing two feet away from them, their clothing blowing in the breeze of the hovering helicopter above their heads.
"…do your research," Sherlock was saying on the video, while Amelia gripped her knees tightly, her fingernails almost digging into her flesh. She watched with a sickening feeling in her stomach as Sherlock on the video took a step away from John, having just slipped John's gun out of his pocket, unnoticed by the rest of them as he began to walk towards Magnussen, "I'm not a hero…I'm a high-functioning sociopath…"
The video suddenly switched from the camera on the helicopter, to the head cam on one of Mycroft's men as they neared the steps of the patio, just as Sherlock lifted his gun towards Magnusson's head. Amelia winced, expecting to hear her own scream to come over the video as she cried out for Sherlock to stop, but it didn't come, instead, on the video, Sherlock suddenly dropped the gun harmlessly onto the ground and she, on the video, lunged forward to grab his arm, just before a loud bang went off and Magnussen collapsed onto the floor, seemingly shot by someone else off screen, rather than Sherlock. Amelia blinked, startled as she stared at the screen, watching as Sherlock lifted his arms in surrender on the screen and she dropped her hold on him, stepping back, her expression partly obscured by the loose curls blowing across her face in the wind. But that hadn't been what had happened at all, far from it.
"I see," Sherlock said lightly as the video continued to play again and again, on a loop, "Who is supposed to have shot him, then?" he lifted his uneaten biscuit up to his mouth, taking a bite.
"Some over-eager squaddie with an itchy trigger finger, that's who," the man next to Lady Smallwood replied shortly, appearing to have quite enough of dealing with Sherlock Holmes for one day.
He continued to watch the video play on a loop, "That's not what happened at all," he remarked quietly, taking another bite of his biscuit. Amelia swallowed hard, forcing her fingers to relax over her knees, her skin marked with half-moon imprints.
"It is now," Mycroft told him firmly, staring at the screen with a grim expression.
Amelia closed her eyes, flinching as the sound of the gun going off sounded through the room for the fifth time in a row, "Please," she said in a forced voice, "Can we turn that off now? It was bad enough witnessing it the first time; I don't need it to be repeated over and over again during my waking hours, too".
Sherlock cast her a quick, almost concerned look, "Mycroft," he shot his brother a pointed glare, "I think you've proven your point".
Mycroft lifted his eyebrows in surprise, eyeing his brother with an almost knowing look as he glanced across the room to Amelia, who was refusing to look at the screen, her eyes fixed intently on her tartan skirt. It was almost…touching, how concerned his little brother was for Amelia's wellbeing, never before would he have imagined that Sherlock would be capable of feeling so…attached towards another person, as he clearly was with Mrs Wilson. Of course, it delighted their parents that at least one of their children had finally managed to find a romantic partner, and they themselves were really quite taken with Amelia, but it still surprised him somewhat by just how much Sherlock seemed to care for her. It wasn't just a relationship out of convenience or just merely affection, his brother actually admired Amelia. It was plain to see, he listened to her, even if he might not always do as she said or asked, he still listened, and that in itself was something new for Mycroft to witness in his little brother. Personally, he thought that Amelia Wilson could very well be either the best thing for Sherlock, or the very worst thing. He lifted the remote up to the screen and turned the video off; curiously casting a look between the detectives as Amelia almost seemed to sigh in relief, Sherlock watching her from afar with a frown on his features. Yes, this was proving to be rather interesting.
"Remarkable," Lady Smallwood commented, shaking her head lightly, "How did you do it?"
"We have some very talented people working here," the man to her left replied, looking rather pleased with himself as she glanced across to him, "If James Moriarty can hack every TV screen in the land, rest assured we have the tech to, er…doctor a bit of security footage," he gestured towards the dark screen, while Amelia resisted the urge to laugh as she noticed Sherlock throw a piece of his biscuit towards his open mouth, only to miss completely. He frowned to himself as he grabbed at the biscuit piece that had fallen down beside his chair, his eyes flickering across to catch hers as she smiled faintly. No one else in the room seemed to notice, listening to the man still speaking, "That is now the official version, the version anyone we want to will see".
Lady Smallwood nodded, turning to look back across to Sherlock, who popped the biscuit into his mouth as though nothing had happened, "No need to go to the trouble of getting some sort of official pardon," she said, eyeing him closely, "You're off the hook, Mr Holmes. You're home and dry".
"Okay," Sherlock nodded, perfectly calm and composed, toasting his biscuit towards her, "Cheers," he uncrossed his legs and rose from his chair, ignoring Mycroft's stern look as began buttoning his blazer around his middle, "Come along, Amelia. We should celebrate," he flashed her a cheeky smile, causing Amelia to raise an eyebrow in return at how curiously playful he was being, for him, as he reached for his coat draped over the back of his chair.
"Obviously…" Lady Smallwood cut in sharply, narrowing her eyes on him, "…there's unfinished business. Moriarty".
Amelia sighed at the mention of her dear brother, gracefully climbing to her feet, "I shouldn't concern yourself to greatly with my darling brother, Lady Smallwood," she advised her, giving her a tight, sarcastic smile as she grabbed her own coat and handbag, "He's very much dead, after all".
She frowned, her eyes flickering between the detectives as Amelia slipped her coat on, "You say he filmed that video message before he died," she said with a hint of doubt in her tone.
Sherlock paused, one arm in his coat, "Yes," he answered from around his mouthful of biscuit.
"You also say you know what he's going to do next, Mr Holmes. What does that mean?"
"Perhaps that's all there is to it," the man remarked thoughtfully, glancing up to the detectives as he waved his finger between them, "Perhaps he was just trying to frighten you. It wouldn't be the first time, would it, Miss Wilson?" he focused his attention onto Amelia, his eyebrows raised.
Amelia frowned slightly, glancing at Sherlock, "My brother did love to spark a reaction out of people," she agreed, her gaze growing distant, thinking about her deranged twin, "And never more so then from me, but you are gravely mistaken if you think that James would have gone to all this effort just to frighten either of us," she looked back up to the man and Lady Smallwood, her expression grim, "James had to have known that there was a chance he wouldn't survive that day, he was far too ready to simply kill himself otherwise, so why wouldn't he have planned in advance? He was clever and calculating, and he wanted nothing more than to see the world crumble and burn all around him, he wasn't just going to let death ruin his fun. So…he set into motion one final game for us to play, should he indeed die, one final puzzle for us to solve".
She swallowed hard as she looked back across to Sherlock, knowing that she was right, because that was exactly how her brother's mind had worked. He hadn't feared death; James was too psychotic to fear something so trivial and ordinary as death, he had thrived on chaos and destruction, he had craved the rush that it had given him, craved the sense of power and control that being at the heart of it all had given him. And, at the end of the day, he had been desperately bored. He had gone after Sherlock because Sherlock had been the only person who could distract and challenge him, Amelia had proven early on in their lives that she wouldn't play her brother's twisted games, so he had moved on to someone else. Someone who would play.
"We brought you back to deal with this, Mr Holmes," Lady Smallwood eyed Sherlock closely, her expression expectant, "What are you going to do?"
"Wait," Sherlock replied at once, as though it was that simple. Amelia didn't even blink, suspecting he would likely come up with that idea; it did make sense, after all.
"'Wait?'" she stared at him, startled.
"Of course wait," he rolled his eyes, looking exasperated, "I'm the target. Targets wait. Look…" he sighed, looking between Lady Smallwood and the other man, who were watching him with matching puzzled expressions, "Whatever's coming, whatever he's got lined up, I'll know when it begins," he glanced across to Amelia and raised an eyebrow, holding the elbow in his coat sleeve out towards her, which she accepted, linking her left arm with his. He didn't spare the rest of the room so much as a glance as he turned and began to lead the way across the room, absently slipping his other arm through the sleeve of his coat, "I always know when the game is on," he continued, "D'you know why?"
"Why?" the older woman asked warily, sounding thoroughly through with dealing with Sherlock Holmes.
He paused as they reached the door, actually sending Amelia a little smirk before looking back across to Lady Smallwood, "Because I love it," he said, just before he pulled the door open and they slipped outside the conference room.
Amelia remained silent as they walked down the long, modern hallway back towards the lift, before a sigh crossed her lips, "Did you enjoy that little performance, Holmes?" she eyed his profile as he stepped forward slightly to hit the button to call the lift up to their level, just as they reached the closed metal doors, polished so greatly that their own, slightly distorted reflections looked back at them.
"Well, you seemed to find it amusing".
"Try embarrassed amusement. It was a bit like when you laugh at a funeral".
Sherlock tilted his head thoughtfully, his gaze on the small yellow light on the panel beside the lift, watching as it moved upwards, "I can't say I've ever laughed at a funeral".
"Nor have I, but if I found your antics amusing it was guilty amusement, I assure you".
"Hmm…" he hummed thoughtfully, smirking again as he glanced at her, "Nope," he popped the P, "You found it funny".
"I did not".
"Of course you did…"
"I so didn't, Sherlock!"
"Did…"
"Must you two continue to behave like children?" Mycroft cut across Sherlock's response, coming to stand on his brother's right-hand side with a scowl on his face.
Sherlock and Amelia paused, glancing at each other, "Yep," they said in unison, turning back to Mycroft, Amelia actually smirking slightly.
His mouth thinned and he fixed them both with a glare, far from impressed, "Miss Wilson…" he levelled Amelia with a sharp, disappointed look, "I had hoped that you would be able to keep my brother in check by allowing you to attend today's meeting…"
"Back to 'Miss Wilson' again, are we?" Amelia eyed him with a perfectly calm, unconcerned expression, her tone light, "And to think, it was less than a week ago that you actually welcomed me to the family".
"A possible momentarily lapse in judgment in my part," he replied, giving her one of his tight lipped smile, "I was being drugged at the time," his pale blue eyes moved to rest on Sherlock, narrowing pointedly.
Sherlock sighed loudly, rolling his eyes so hard Amelia actually wondered if it was painful, "Go away, Mycroft," he told him, just as the lift finally reached their level and slid open. He threw Mycroft a dark look as he and Amelia stepped into the lift, turning around to face his older brother still standing just outside the doors, "We have a case".
"Sherlock…"
"Don't worry, Mycroft," Amelia sighed tiredly, giving him an exasperated look, "We know what we're doing, and I'll make sure to keep a close eye on your baby brother".
She gave him a bright, overly happy smile and reached across to the side of the lift, pressing the 'Ground Floor' button. She couldn't resist the slightly sarcastic wiggle of her fingers at Mycroft as the doors closed on his frowning face. Sherlock was right, they had a case, they just might have to go about actually solving it in a slightly roundabout way.
Season four, it's official! And it only took me…what, six years to get to this point? Maybe more. But we're here that's what matters, I'm just desperately hoping that we'll get some news about if we will be getting season five or not soon, I positively hate the idea of this being the last season, but even if it is the end, we'll still see Amelia and Sherlock. Anyway, as always Amelia's outfit will be up on my Tumblr and Pinterest.
Next chapter, baby Watson comes into the world, Sherlock and Amelia might be scarred for life as a result of it, however, and Amelia is so done with Sherlock's nonsense. Tell me what you thought, I hope you guys liked it. Pease review :)