Hi Guys!

Sorry about the odd placement of the chapter break between 1 and 2. Perhaps someday, I will fix it.

So, I am almost positive that I will be posting on Mondays and Thursdays, but I am participating in NaNoWriMo, so bear with me!

Another thing, due to the subject matter that our future villian(s?) is involved in, I do have to let you know that all the names are fictional and any similarities to actual people is just a coincidence.

I do not own: Sherlock, John, Mycroft, Anthea, Molly, Lestrade, or any characters from the BBC show. The rest are mine, all mine!

Please review. It does make my day shine a bit brighter, which helps now that it is getting darker much earlier!

Mycroft followed Amelia into her office. He took some time to appreciate that, despite being a small room in a bakery, Amelia managed to paint and decorate her office to look cozy and warm instead of cramped. The far wall was lined with shelves with the bottom shelf jutting out more so that it could be used as a desk. By choosing to run her operations on an iPad and a mobile, Amelia did not have to be concerned with cluttering her desk with necessary machines. The walls were painted a cheery but soft yellow and there were framed pictures of vintage advertisements, though Amelia added thought bubbles of what she believe the models in the photos were actually thinking. Mycroft's personal favorite was an ad for a vehicle with a pin-up girl saying, "Ran into my ex, so I put it in reverse and hit him again." He hoped the relations between Amelia and John become unstrained soon, otherwise that photo would be seemingly less amusing. "I do like the advances they are making with technology, very helpful for the small business owners, don't you agree?" Mycroft looked at Amelia, who had somehow managed to extract the files out of his hand while he was distracted. "I guess that we are ending our pleasantries."

"Good to see you, dear brother, how has running the British government been treating you?" Amelia did not bother to look up from the profile of Jose Marquez.

"Aside from a slightly concerning issue in Syria, I would say that things have been quite typical. There was actually an amusing exchange between Anthea and the UN representative from Amsterdam…" Mycroft trailed off, unsure if Amelia was actually interested.

"Does it include Anthea finally looking up from her Blackberry? Or did she manage to mangle a man without stopping her text?"

"I assume that it would be quite similar to attempting to hold a conversation while reading files on murderous men?"

Amelia finally looked up. "My apologies, but I have been waiting for this information for some time now."

Mycroft waved off her words, "I wanted to make sure that every detail was correct. I do not want you running after these people without just cause."

Amelia's brow furrowed. "All of the targets are men."

"Problem?"

"It is surprising. I killed quite a few people of both genders while under Moriarty's thumb, so I just assumed that I would have female enemies. Also, women make fine assassins. They already know how to manipulate their appearance and how to deflect unwanted advances. I've actually never come across a list of targets that did not include at least one woman."

Mycroft shrugged. "Out of the twenty six separate threats against you a year ago, there are only five people that are still targeting you. Perhaps it just so happens that these five did not understand that you performed against your will. I'm sure that is a concept that women might comprehend more than men."

"I appreciate your stab at feminism, Mycroft, but you need to assume that women are just as bloodthirsty and can hold a grudge just as well as men. Besides, the idea that humans perform heinous acts while under an authority is not new. There are psychological studies that date back to the 1950's that highlight such a thing. Dr. Philip Zimbardo had to scrap his entire prison experiment because both himself and the prison guard subjects broke multiple ethical guidelines by exerting power over the other prisoner subjects and the power of authority was minimal at best. There is something about these names that aren't sitting right with me."

Mycroft snatched the files back. "Fine, if you do not want to be involved, I understand, much prefer it actually. I will get some of my other people on this instead."

Amelia could feel a headache coming on, "I didn't say that I don't want to be involved. You just said that you want to make sure that all of the details are correct. I figured that you would want to know if I felt there is something unusual about this."

"I am only entertaining this ridiculous notion of you continuing your assassination skills because you said that you wanted to help. These men will not stop until you are dead and probably in multiple pieces. So yes, I made bloody well sure the details are spot on. I cannot wait until you decide that they are the 'right' people to kill."

"I didn't think you had it in you, Mycroft. Cursing?"

"I'm afraid that I am rather impatient to finish this. Aren't you?"

"Of course I am. Do you really think that I have been standing idly by? For once, Mycroft, I would love to sleep for an entire night. I would be absolutely tickled if I could just walk into my flat, throw the lock and call myself protected. And it would delight me to no end to finally have relationships without the perpetual fear of you all being used as weapon against me."

Mycroft stared Amelia in the eye. "Well, we have our targets. Why don't you finally finish this?"

The sense that there was more to this list than what Mycroft was letting on persisted. She knew that Mycroft did not make idle threats. If she continued to question these men, Mycroft would immediately shut down and walk out with the hope that Amelia would ever truly feel safe. But there is something about these names that just do not add up. I know them from somewhere, just not from Moriarty. In the end, Amelia knew there was only one option. "Fine, who should we begin with?"

Present day

"And that is what we've been doing for the last six months. The man tonight was my last on the list. But it still bothers me. He said that he did not know who I was but he was not surprised that someone was trying to kill him. These men are connected, but I can't remember how." Amelia looked up from the couch at Sherlock and John's intense stares.

Sherlock stood and walked over to John's laptop. "What are the names?"

"Pakawat Channarong, Thierry Montase, Kelvin Gonzalez, Patrick McCarthy, and Abdul Janashah." Amelia rattled off.

"You are right, they are connected. No matter, I'm sure I can figure that out without a problem." Sherlock smirked but looked momentarily panicked when he noticed the time. "I shall be in my room. Give me about an hour and a half first."

Sherlock gathered John's laptop up and briskly walked into his bedroom, shutting and locking the door. John and Amelia looked at each other, the same questioning expression on both of their faces. "I would tell him to use his own laptop, but I've been doing that for the last 3 months and he hasn't listened so far."

"This is typical? I mean, Sherlock has his quirks, but to spontaneously steal your computer and lock himself in his room. Have you been updating your security and malware software?"

"Why would I need to do that?"

"A grown man is locking himself in his room with your laptop, which is higher quality than his. I am sure that it is easier to stream video on your screen than his? Plus you seem to do your regular updates to keep it running in top shape whereas Sherlock barely remembers to dust the keyboard."

"So you think he is watching, what? Movies?"

"I would be more worried about the adult film selection that is available on multiple free websites."

"Sherlock is stealing my laptop to watch pornography?"

Amelia took a moment to consider that scenario. "Alright, fine, maybe a typical man would be wanking off, but this is Sherlock. Unfortunately, that brings us back to our original question. Is this something that is planned in advance?"

"That is the weird thing. He only does this on Mondays around 5pm, unless there is a case. If we are working, it gets moved to Sunday evenings."

"Maybe he is Skyping."

"What?"

"Try to keep up, old man. Skype is a computer program that allows people to talk over the computer. The camera on your laptop would allow for live video feed so that you can actually look at who you are talking to."

In an annoyed huff, John snapped "I know what Skype is. Sherlock makes me use the damn thing whenever he wants to consult on a case that he feels is too boring to require him to be physically present. You'd never believe the places I had to hike with that stupid computer. I am more concerned about who he is speaking with. He prefers to text everyone and can barely stand seeing many people in person, much less having weekly sessions with them."

Amelia did not see much of a point in apologizing. After working for six months in the service business, she was sick of every other word coming out of her mouth being "sorry about that." John did not seem to mind either, so Amelia just continued. "What about Lestrade or Molly?"

"Thought about that. Sherlock would just go to Scotland Yard if he needed to talk to Lestrade. It gives him plenty of opportunity to insult Anderson and sneer at Donovan. Molly? Perhaps every once in a while, but weekly? Probably not."

"Well damn. I'm out of ideas. Should we let this be his secret?" Amelia grinned over at John.

"Hell no, I actually hope that it is some sort of scandal. I would have said he was conversing with Irene Adler, but…"

"But I killed her." Amelia tried to ignore the slight pressure on her chest when she thought about killing Irene.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to bring that up. I know how much of a sore subject that is."

"It's alright. I mostly just feel guilty that I couldn't do anything to help. She was just too involved before I knew what was going on."

"You just felt helpless. Trust me, I know the feeling." Amelia knew that John was thinking about Mary, his dead first wife, taken entirely too soon by the hands of a drunk driver.

"Well that was nice while it lasted." Amelia could not keep all of the bitterness that she felt out of her voice.

John looked up, startled. "Pardon?"

"Not about Mary. Yes, I know you were thinking about her. I meant us. Why can't we just have a normal conversation anymore without it getting awkward? Our topics of conversation have so many landmines, it should have caution tape wrapped around the bloody thing."

"Maybe we should just stop being so sensitive about it." John spoke slowly, as if he were trying to find the right words. "We both have a history and it does no good to ignore it, especially when it keeps popping up like this."

Amelia took her time to absorb what John was suggesting. "So, what, are we just going to say exactly what is on our minds? I don't see how that will go over well."

"Well then, what should we do? You just said that all of our conversations end with us looking at each other uncomfortably, like we can't trust our own thoughts." John began pacing through the sitting room. "I'd rather try something, anything, than keep going through this."

His argument seemed logical, but Amelia's heart thudded at the idea of total honesty. It was so easy for her to pick up what someone was feeling. That was how she knew when she stepped into dangerous territory with John. She observed and acted accordingly. John wanted her to dissolve that for the moment in the hopes that discussing feelings would help. Amelia wanted to just run out the door. She killed people for a living and wanted to be the last person that another could count on to talk about emotions. "John, I'm really uncomfortable with this. Can't we just map out safe topics, like every other normal person in England?"

"You aren't normal, though."

It would have helped Amelia if John had tried to look contrite as he said that. "Gee" she retorted. "Way to help a girl open up."

John groaned and rubbed his temples. She was going to be the death of him. "You know what I mean, Amelia. Just humor me, alright?"

Running out of excuses, Amelia sighed and sat with her legs under her. "Fine, but if this makes shit more weird, I am blaming you."

John sat on the other side of the couch, facing Amelia. "You'll be entitled." He gestured with his hand. "Ladies first."

"I hate you a bit sometimes." Amelia shook out her hair and forced herself to bite back another sarcastic remark. "I may need a drink, do you need a drink? I'm getting a drink." She stood up and John reached his arms out to push her back down.

"Not a chance. Out with it, Holmes."