Mycroft studied the girl who stood with her back to him, staring out at the scenery of London. He had called her in because he was, though he wouldn't admit it, stuck. He had worked with her briefly when she was just starting out, but even then she got the job done. It had taken some time to find her again, but once he caught her scent, he grabbed her and pulled her up into the building that was his office.

"Amelia, don't you want to know what I need?"

She half-turned, a smile ghosting across her face, and spoke, "Mycroft, I already know, and I'll gladly help seeing as I've been following him for some time."

He hesitated, not expecting that. "Oh?"

"He has a whole empire, and has gained many enemies. So, yes, I've been hired to find him before."

"By?"

Amelia waved her hand, turning to face him. "All sorts. Fellow criminals, parents of victims, the police. Actually, your brother's friend, that DI, he's called me. I was on my way when you got lucky and practically kidnapped me."

"My brother's DI?" Mycroft raised one nicely trimmed eyebrow, leaning back against his desk.

She nodded, slipping her hand into her pocket and fishing out a phone. She directed her attention to it for a moment before showing it to him. "Your brother, if I remember correctly. My first case and he looks like he's doing better. Doesn't remember me, barely notices I'm there. I bet he thinks I'm just some cop." Amelia shrugged one small shoulder, replacing the phone. "Care for a walk? I know you think they're dreadful, but I really shouldn't be late, and you're nice company on a good day."

He laughed a genuine expression just for her and nodded. "My lady, for you, the world."

She shook her head, knowing he was always a show-off with the girls, and started on her way towards the lift. Once inside, she let her hair fall from the small bun she had put it in, letting it fall in soft waves around her face. She still looked, to Mycroft, breakable. Although she wasn't a stick, she still gave off a rather passive appearance.

She was generic looking, when her hair was up. A normal person would guess her age would fit with that of a university student, but he knew she was just barely 18. Sure, she didn't tell people that, but he had gotten all files available. However, Amelia Smith was nearly nonexistent, and very common in her life. Average.

Perhaps, Mycroft reasoned, that's why she can infiltrate anywhere. He would have loved to have her work with him in his office and with the government, but she made it clear the first time they met, she was better on her own.

"So," she said, looking up in the reflection to him, "why are you on his case? Because he's targeted Sherlock?"

He frowned down at her. "The DI tell you that?"

She smiled effortlessly. "Yeah, and I figured he would come up on your radar sooner or later. He's a big name, helps a lot of bad people." She turned to look at him, her brown eyes gazing into his blue ones. "Anyway, now that Sherlock's doing better, he's helping out the Yard. Very interesting. You suggest that to the DI?"

Mycroft shook his head, taking out his phone to let Sherlock know that he would be seeing him at Scotland Yard.

"It seems my brother found the DI on his own. How, I'm not going to disclose." His lips closed and he looked at her steadily, something that usually put anyone of his underlings quiet.

Amelia, though, grinned in response. "No, of course not. It doesn't matter, Mycroft. I was just trying to make small talk. I've forgotten you're not one for such pleasantries."

He smiled at her as they exited the elevator, and walked alongside her toward the Yard.

xxx

"What sort of person are you bringing along?" Sherlock stood over Lestrade, who simply kept his focus on his phone.

"She's kind of like a profiler, Sherlock," Lestrade repeated.

A noise was heard and Sherlock pulled his phone out of his pocket. "Oh, great! Now my brother's going to be here. Has something else happened? John, has something else happened?"

"Mycroft will be here? Why? No! I don't know if something else blew up," John said, looking up at his exasperated colleague.

Lestrade sighed, checking his computer for any new reports. "Wait, did you say brother?"

"Yes," came a voice from behind Sherlock. "Older brother, if we're being technical." The man attached to the voice tugged his jacket closer to him and rested his umbrella on his arm as he stepped to the side to allow a younger lady through.

"Mycroft, don't be posh and mean. It's not nice," the girl chastised with a smile. She lifted her hand to wave at the two gentlemen in Lestrade's office. "Hello! I'm Amelia. I help out sometimes, when I'm in town and when Greg wants to see me." Her smile grew into a grin as Lestrade chuckled.

"Amelia, you always seem to make people so comfortable," Lestrade said, coming towards her with open arms. "You've even got a Holmes smiling. Bet that took effort." He winked after he pulled away from her hug.

She shrugged, elbowing Mycroft. "He's a nice lad when he wants to be, this one. Actually, if we could shut the door, I'll tell you what I've gathered on this Jim fellow." Her expression darkened, seeming out of place on her soft features.

Once extra chairs were brought in, and Amelia took a place next to Lestrade behind the desk, she opened up the file on Jim Moriarty. Lestrade had taken out a blurred photo of what was thought to be him, and Amelia frowned. Shaking her head, she bent down to her bag and took out a folder, opened it, and showed the gentlemen an artist's rendering of the Irish madman.

"His real name, or the earliest name he has been known by, is James McCanless. He stays with James, almost always. I haven't heard of him being called anything else, and very rarely by McCanless. It was a slip-up by some dead-beat who had worked briefly with him years back."

She took out a few sheets with hand-written reports.

"Greg knows I don't have records aside from written papers from memory, but I have a very good memory." Her eyes ghosted up to Sherlock who had huffed quietly before they landed back down. "Now, I haven't been able to get settled long enough to look up McCanless, but I guess that's what Lestrade is for, eh?" Again, she smiled at the gray-haired man.

He turned to his computer to power up the Yard's search engine.

"James McCanless was kidnapped at ten in 1986 right under the nose of his mother in Dublin. I remember; it was all over the news," said Mycroft, leaning closer to the clearer picture of Moriarty.

"It's still unsolved," added Lestrade, turning the monitor to show the rest.

"From what I've gathered, his kidnappers were able to keep a hold on him with threats for about a year and a half until he ran away. That's where he met that guy that let his name slip. When he ran, the gang – that's what the kidnappers were, a gang – killed the McCanless'."

Lestrade stopped her, "Look, he has one relative, a younger sister born in 1987, one Elizabeth McCanless, who moved to America to live in 2005."

Amelia glanced at the monitor before reaching down into bag and pulling out a notebook to write down the new information.

"This isn't a very big file," John said, making the others in the room realize he was there.

"It just seems that way," Mycroft brushed off, "she has absurdly small handwriting, and writes front and back."

She smiled up at John, still transcribing the information.

"Even with this information, what the hell are we going to do?"

Mycroft leaned back in his seat, his face turning dark as Amelia ripped the page out and put it in her folder. "Amelia infiltrates."

"Oh, no!" Greg said, turning around in his chair to look at her. "I didn't hire you to do any of that. You're a profiler, that's all."

She rolled her eyes, turning to face him completely. "I do more than that. I have many talents; you'd be surprised." Gathering her things, she plucked a card from her pocket and set in on his desk. "Call me if you need me. I must check into my hotel."