Until We Meet Again

by loulouflowerpower

Sherlock/OC-Two years have passed since Sherlock Holmes and Amelia Wilson were forced to leave London while the rest of the world, including those closest to them, believed them to be dead. But returning home brought with it surprises, such as John's relationship with Mary Morstan and a new threat rising, so what does this all mean for our detectives? Will romance finally blossom?

3. Chapter 3 The Empty Hearse, Part 2

The Empty Hearse, Part 2.

After a quick stop off for Sherlock to make himself look even more dramatic than usual by standing on the edge of a roof top, gazing out over the city as the final pink glows of the setting sun crossed the darkening sky, Amelia had finally been able to drag him away, having been standing well back from the edge with her blazer held tightly to her body. They had hailed a cab and set off for the Landmark Hotel in Marylebone Road, Sherlock pushing the cab door open as they arrived at the rather grand looking building and stepping out onto the pavement, Amelia climbing out close behind him.

"Perhaps this isn't the best idea," she sighed as Sherlock actually waited around long enough to pay for the cab.

"He'll love it," Sherlock said, utterly convinced, tucking his wallet back inside his coat as the cab pulled away from the curb.

"I really don't know about that".

He linked his arm with hers again; leading the way up to the glass front doors that where opened as they approached the doorman. They paused as they entered the large, lavish room and dropped their arms from each other, Sherlock pulling his coat off and passing it off to a member of staff waiting by the doors.

"Sir, ma'am," a dark haired man stepped towards them, the maitre d,' "May I help you?"

Sherlock barely even cast him a look, when a buzzing noise went off in the man's pocket, "You're wife just texted you," he deduced at once, glancing at him, "Possibly her contractions have started".

The man's eyes widened and he quickly reached into his pocket for his phone, checking it before hurrying off towards the front doors. Sherlock smirked smugly.

Amelia smiled at him, amused, "Impressive, Holmes".

"You noticed it too," he stated, looking back across to her.

Her smile widened, "Of course I did," she replied, and shrugged, "Expectant father. As deductions go, a rather tricky one to catch, I must admit," she turned her attention back to the restaurant before them, to all the people sitting at tables scattered around the room. She broke into a smile as she caught sight of John sitting at a table in the middle of the room, checking something in his inner jacket pocket before reaching out to pickup his glass of water. He was nervous and it really wasn't so hard to figure out just what he was so nervous about, he was here to propose. This really wasn't a good night to be doing this, "So…" she began, glancing back to Sherlock, who was eyeing John, "What's the plan? Though, I still think we should do this another time…"

Sherlock ignored her last comment, but before he could answer a waitress walked past them with a couple of menus in her hands, almost bumping into them, "'Scuse me, sir, ma'am," she muttered, continuing on her way.

He glanced at her, doing a quick double take as he realised that he was actually dressed similar to the waiting staff, a white shirt with black trousers and blazer, the only thing he was missing was a black bowtie. He turned back to Amelia, ducking his head slightly to bring his lips close against her ear, "That man over there with the yellow rose attached to his jacket…" he began quietly, nodding over to where a middle aged man was sitting alone at a table just off to the left of John's table, a rather large rose attached to the front of his blazer.

Amelia quickly found the man, "I see him," she murmured, eyeing the man carefully, "Judging by the rose, he's on a blind date," she swept her eyes quickly over the table before him, "He's been waiting for a while, he's completely drained his glass of water but hasn't yet ordered anything or even bothered to look at the menu. He's also checked his watch four times since we first entered and checked the entrance twice, so even though he's been waiting for a while he's still hopeful that she'll show…" she broke off, because Sherlock was suddenly a holding a large yellow rose under her nose, the lovely sweet fragrance of the flower wafting over her. She blinked, looking past the rose to him in surprise. She hadn't even noticed that he had ducked away somewhere while she had been speaking, "A rose?" she smiled broadly at him, taking the flower, "Oh, you shouldn't have".

"I think we can both agree that a yellow rose doesn't suit you," Sherlock remarked, surprising her once again. He plucked the rose from her fingers and carefully reached up to stick the flower into her hair at the top of her ponytail. She couldn't help but smile softly, feeling strangely touched by the gesture, "Red roses suit you better," he went on, lowering his hand from her head and letting it drop back to his side.

"Thank you," she said quietly, still smiling softly, "Are you ready for this?"

"Are you?"

"Of course".

His mouth twitched very slightly, "You had better go," he told her, nodding over towards the man with the matching yellow rose, "Your blind date is waiting".

"That's one of the last things I ever thought I would hear come from your mouth, Holmes," she laughed, shaking her head. She gave him one last reassuring smile before turning on her heel and making her way over towards the table that her apparent date was sitting, weaving through tables and carefully keeping her head ducked as she past by John's table, but he was luckily fiddling nervously with his silverware and not taking the slightest bit of notice of her. She reached the table, clearing her throat slightly as she fixed a bright smile onto her face, "Hi, I'm so sorry about being late," she said hurriedly, trying to make herself sound girly and breathless as she sat down across from the man, "I'm such an idiot, completely forgot what time we'd set…"

The man looked up and stared, actually stared at her, as if he had never seen a woman before. Amelia struggled to hold back a grimace of mild disgust as she noticed the man's eyes roaming all over her body, once again reminded just why she hated dating so much. Men were so painfully obvious and this man seemed to be even worse than usual, though he was thankfully not completely outright ogling her chest. It was sad that she actually felt the urge to give him credit for that. She sighed and discreetly glanced over her shoulder to see that Sherlock was walking away from a table with a young woman and older man, the man seeming to be dabbing water from off his front with a napkin while Sherlock was busy fixing a bowtie around his neck. So, he had already struck and found himself a bowtie to complete his disguise as a waiter, he had acted quickly. It was almost impressive.

"Oh, uh…" the man, her charming date, finally seemed to come to his senses and pulled his eyes up to meet hers, "It's fine," he gave her an awkward smile, "You're here now".

"And you waited," Amelia fixed a slightly flirty smile onto her face, leaning towards him. Oh, the things that she did for Sherlock Holmes and John Watson, "You're so sweet".

The man blushed bright red, "You…um…you look amazing," he blurted out suddenly.

"Oh, this?" she glanced down at herself, quickly casting a look over her shoulder to check on what Sherlock was up to. He had apparently found a pair of rounded glasses from somewhere and a menu. She quickly looked back to her date. He obviously didn't get out to much if he seemed to be finding it so hard to talk to her, she was certainly not that pretty and she wasn't even wearing something she would consider to be formal. She gave a flirty little giggle, resting her elbow on the table and her chin on her open palm, gazing across to him, "Thank you so much, I just couldn't find anything to wear".

Amelia looked back over to Sherlock, resisting the urge to laugh as she watched as he walked over to where a group of woman were sitting at another table only a short distance away. Sherlock came up from behind one of the women and said something, trading the menu in his hands over for the menu that the woman was looking at. If she hadn't been looking so closely, she would never have noticed how he plucked a black eyeliner pen from the woman's open clutch bag sitting on the table beside her. He straightened and turned away, lifting the eyeliner up to his face and drawing a little moustache onto his upper lip. He looked ridiculous, in the glasses, bowtie, and now the fake moustache and she just couldn't help the little laugh that escaped her.

Her date frowned slightly, "Are…are you looking for someone?" he asked, sounding worried.

Amelia's head snapped back him, startled, "Of course not!" she giggled, reaching over to lightly hit his arm, desperately trying to make herself sound like one of the airhead girls that she used to see all the time when she went clubbing in university. They had always sickened her, seeing how they had fallen all over boys and giggled over the slightest thing. Personally, she had always considered intelligence to be sexy, even if that meant she and Irene Alder had something else in common, "Oh, you silly thing, you," she said girlishly, and was pleased to see that her date actually seemed to find her fake persona endearing, though she personally couldn't see why.

"Are you sure?" he stilled seemed a little concerned.

"Yeah, completely sure," she nodded, "I just thought I saw someone I recognised. Why don't you tell me about yourself?" she suggested, hopeful that it would be a good distraction.

Thankfully, he seemed more than happy to comply and began chatting about something that she smiled and politely nodded to, his words simply washing over her. She glanced back over to Sherlock and found him standing by John's table, right behind John's chair, in fact, holding the menu in his hands and the eyeliner in his hand like a pen.

"Can I 'elp you with anything, sir?" Sherlock asked John, putting on a slightly nasally French accent. Amelia's eyebrows rose, resisting the urge to laugh. Her mother had been French and that was quite possibly one of the worst French accents she had ever heard, and why on Earth did he have to make himself sound so nasally?

"Hi, yeah," John nodded, his eyes fixed on the menu in his hands with a small frown, not even glancing back to Sherlock, "I'm looking for a bottle of champagne, a good one".

Champagne, a fancy restaurant, John nervous, John fiddling with something in his pocket. Dear Lord, could their timing possibly be any worse? Amelia wanted to just jump up and grab Sherlock by his bowtie and drag him out of the building right then and there, before John noticed anything about his helpful server, but she knew that she couldn't. It would cause a scene which really would catch even John's attention. She couldn't believe Sherlock hadn't even worked it out yet, either that or he had worked it out and he was still going through the damn plan, in which case he completely dissevered whatever John did to him.

"Mmm!" Sherlock leaned closer to him, waving his hand around with the eyeliner in it at the menu in John's hand, "Well, these are all excellent vintages".

He nodded, still frowning at the menu, "Er, it's not really my area," he admitted, "What do you suggest?"

"Well, you cannot possibly go wrong, but, erm, if you'd like my personal recommendation…" he trailed off, trying to get him to look up to him.

"Mm-hm," John nodded again, not looking up.

Amelia sighed, shaking her head slightly. She quickly glanced back to her date, who, much to her amazement, was still talking. He liked cars, apparently, so much so that he hadn't even noticed that she was completely ignoring him. She smiled at him, which only seemed to urge him on, before turning her attention swiftly back to Sherlock and John.

Sherlock gestured with the eyeliner towards something on the menu list in John's hands, "…this last one on the list is a favourite of mine," he informed him, still keeping the accent going, but still John didn't turn his head to look at him, "It is, you might in fact say…like a face from ze past," he whipped his glasses off his face and stood, waiting dramatically, staring down at John expectantly.

"Great," John said, picking up his wine glass that was half full of red wine. He still didn't look up, "I'll have that one, please," he told him, finishing off his wine in one big gulp.

"This is like watching a train wreck," Amelia muttered, shaking her head in disbelief and amazement that still, John hadn't looked up to see Sherlock. And her date was still talking about cars! How was that even possible to be so oblivious?

Sherlock seemed quite startled himself that John still hadn't looked around to him, "It is familiar, but, er, with the quality of surprise!" he tried again, holding his arms out like a game show host.

John was too busy grimacing at the taste of his wine, before handed the wine list back to Sherlock, not even glancing back to him as he did so, "Well, er, surprise me," he said to him, taking a deep breath.

Sherlock snatched the wine list out of his hand, rolling his eyes in annoyance, "Certainly endeavouring to, sir," he mumbled, and began to walk away towards the bar, catching Amelia's eye as he did so.

Amelia quickly shook her head and mouthed, 'no!' to him, hoping to get it through to him that this wasn't a good idea, that they shouldn't be doing this tonight when John already had something important planned. Sadly, Sherlock simply smirked at her and continued on his way, leaving her glaring after him. Honestly, what did she ever see in him? He never listened to a word she said, she would have better luck telling a door not to open and close.

"Sorry that took so long," a woman's voice caught Amelia's attention, and she pulled her gaze off Sherlock's retreating back to see that a woman had arrived at John's table. The woman was a few years older than herself, with short blonde hair and wearing a pretty purple dress with black beaded detailing of some sort of leaves. The woman took the seat across from John and smiled at him, John looking slightly flustered, "You okay?"

"Yeah, yeah," John said hurriedly, smiling back at her, "Me? Fine. I am fine".

Amelia couldn't help smiling fondly as she watched them, finding the delighted, flustered smile on John's face rather adorable to witness. Of all the times she had seen John with someone before, not once had she seen him look just so…happy. It was a truly wonderful sight.

"Excuse me," Amelia blinked, startled slightly as she looked back to her date that she had almost forgotten was even there. He was standing from his chair, smiling awkwardly at her, "I'll be right back".

"Hurry back!" she cooed at him, slipping easily into the girly persona again, watching as he left in the direction of the bathrooms before quickly turning back to John and his own date, who she very much needed to learn the name of.

"Now then," the blonde woman began, smiling back at John, "What did you want to ask me?"

John swallowed nervously, "More wine?" he asked.

"No, I'm good with water, thanks".

"Right," he looked away briefly, his eyes flickering off to the side where Amelia was sitting. She froze, her eyes widening, certain that he had actually seen her, but then he blinked and turned back to his date. She sighed in relief.

"So…" the woman trailed off.

"Er, so…Mary. Listen, erm…" he paused, seeming to be struggling to try and find the right words, "I know it hasn't been long…I mean, I know we haven't known each other for a long time…" he looked down for a long moment, trying to gather his thoughts.

Amelia whistled lowly, shaking her head, amused. She had been wrong, seeing Sherlock trying to get John to look at him hadn't been like watching a train wreck, this was the train wretch. Poor John was so painfully nervous that she just wanted to go over to him and hug him. She actually felt sorry for him, but she still found it to be adorable and just a little bit awkward.

"Go on," the woman, Mary, encouraged John.

"Yes, I will," John nodded, looking down for another long moment to gather his thoughts, before lifting his head and looking back up to her, "As you know, these last couple of years haven't been easy for me, and meeting you…" he paused, looking at her, nodding, "Yeah, meeting you has been the best thing that could have possibly happened".

"I agree," Mary cut in with a smile.

"What?"

"I agree I'm the best thing that could have happened to you," she told him, and John laughed. Amelia laughed softly to herself, already liking Mary, she was just what John needed in a woman and she had been saying for ages that she needed more girl friends to spend time with. Mary smiled at John, "Sorry," she said, seeming a little embarrassed.

"Well, no," John shook his head, his face slightly pink as his laughter faded, "That's, um…" he paused and looked back up to her, "So…if you'll have me, Mary, could you see your way, um…" Mary laughed softly, seeming to have caught on to just what he was actually trying to say. He cleared his throat loudly as she continued to giggle, "If you could see your way too…" he tried again.

Suddenly, Sherlock swopped back in with a bottle of champagne in hand, still wearing his ridiculous disguise as he leaned over the table. Amelia groaned and covered her face. This really wasn't John's night, was it?

Sir," Sherlock said hurriedly in his French accent, holding the champagne bottle out to John, "I think you'll find this vintage exceptionally to your liking," Mary covered the side of her face with her hand to hide her laughter from their 'waiter,' while he continued to prattle on, "It 'as all the qualities of the old, with some of the colour of the new…"

"How much more awkward can this thing get?" Amelia muttered in disbelief, shaking her head. She really was quite amazed just how many things had gone wrong in one night.

"No, sorry," John told Sherlock, his eyes still locked on Mary's, trying hard to shake off their 'waiter,' "Not now, please".

"Like a gaze from a crowd of strangers…" Sherlock went on, ignoring John, "Suddenly one is aware of staring into ze face of an old friend," he reached up and pulled his glasses off.

"No, look, seriously…" he finally looked up to Sherlock, "…could you just…" he trailed off, his entire body jolting in shock and disbelief, staring up at him, actually seeing him.

Amelia swallowed and stood from her chair, feeling her heart racing in her chest as she made her way over to Sherlock's side, looking at John, "Not to make this even more awkward…" she began warily, biting her lower lip guiltily, "But hello, old friend".

John very nearly fell out of his chair coming face to face with not just one of his supposedly dead friends, but both of them. His face paled, as if he had just seen a ghost, which Amelia supposed to him he just had, and he couldn't seem to workout which one of them to look at at any given moment.

"Interesting thing, a tuxedo," Sherlock remarked, dropping the French accent, "Lends distinction to friends and anonymity to waiters".

John looked back to Mary, who was looking very confused and concerned. His eyes filled with tears as he ducked his head for a moment before standing from his chair, stumbling clumsily on his own feet. Amelia automatically reached out to grab his arm to try and help right him, but he flinched back from her so violently that he very nearly sent his chair flying backwards across the floor.

"Right," she winced apologetically, lowering her hand quickly as she eyed John worriedly. She should have known this would happen, she should have insisted even more that they wait until John was back home and away from public attention, "Sorry, John," she said, guilt written across her face, "Truly, I am so very sorry".

"John?" Mary asked, her concern growing as she watched him straighten, his breathing erratic as he slowly looked back up to Sherlock and Amelia, locking gazes with them for a second before looking back down, seeming to be unable to quite look at them. She frowned at him, very confused and worried, "John, what is it? What?" she tried again, but John didn't answer as he ducked his head again, looking completely shocked.

"Well, short version…" Sherlock began, sitting the champagne bottle down the table, bringing his hands together down his front. He looked back to John, who had finally lifted his eyes back up to them, "Not dead".

John stared back at them, his eyes filled with pain and grief, but slowly all of that seemed to start to be replaced by anger while the shock started to fade.

Amelia swallowed, feeling the anger practically rolling off him in waves, "This really wasn't how we should have done this," she sighed, throwing Sherlock a pointed look, feeling her guilt getting worse with every second that she looked at John.

Sherlock actually had the decency to look a bit guilty, "Bit mean, springing it on you like that, I know," he admitted, turning back to John, "Could have given you a heart attack, probably still will. But in my defence, it was very funny," he laughed nervously, avoiding John's murderous eyes.

"Probably should have stopped while you were ahead, Holmes," Amelia muttered, wincing as she shifted awkwardly under John's gaze. This was even worse then she had thought, but at least no punches had been thrown…yet.

Mary's eyes widened, stunned as she finally caught on, "Oh, no," she breathed faintly, looking back and forth between the detectives, "You're…"

Sherlock glanced at her, "Oh, yes".

"Oh, my God!"

"Not quite".

"Sherlock…" Amelia rolled her eyes.

"You died," Mary shook her head, shocked, "You both died," she stared at them, horror crossing her face, "You drowned…" she pointed at Amelia before moving her finger across to Sherlock, "And you jumped off a roof".

"No," Sherlock said simply.

"Almost drowned," Amelia corrected, glancing back to her with an apologetic smile, "I was fortunately revived".

"You're dead!" Mary exclaimed, still sounding rather faint.

"No," Sherlock looked back to her, "I'm quite sure. I checked…"

"Let's not go there," Amelia shifted again, feeling a blush creeping up her neck as she recalled the kiss. That certainly was one way to make sure that you really were still alive.

He shot her a quick look, seeming to already know where her mind had jumped to, "Excuse me," he said to Mary, and picked up a napkin from the table and dipped one of the corners into Mary's glass of water, looking back to John as he wiped his penned moustache off his upper lip, leaving his skin pink, "Does…does yours rub off too?" he asked him, trying hard to sound casual under John's intense glare.

Amelia resisted the urge to take a step back from John as his mouth thinned into a tight, furious smile. She put a hand on Sherlock's arm, "Not a time for jokes, Sherlock," she warned hastily.

"Oh my God!" Mary gasped, appalled, "Oh my God! Do you have any idea what you've done to him?"

"Yes," the brunet nodded, looking back to her, swallowing, "We…I do, actually, and there is nothing I could possibly ever do or say to make up for it".

"Okay, John…" Sherlock said nervously, lowering his head from under John's furious glare, "I'm suddenly realising I probably owe you some sort of apology…"

John suddenly slammed his clenched fist down onto the table, cutting Sherlock off. The entire table shook, very nearly breaking the glasses as the water sloshed dangerously around inside. He hunched over, trying hard to just keep breathing as he closed his eyes tightly. Amelia and Sherlock exchanged a nervous look.

"All right, just…" Mary tried to calm him down, watching him worriedly, so far managing to avoid drawing any attention to their table, "John, just keep…"

John drew in a shaky breath before looking back up to them, "Two years," he said in a strangled whisper. He shook his head, taking another deep breath and releasing it as he looked back up to Sherlock and Amelia, "Two years…hmm?" he groaned, his shoulders slumping, struggling to get the word out, "I thought…" he moaned again, gesturing helplessly as Mary looked at him sympathetically. Amelia winced, ducking her head, "I thought…you were both dead," he swallowed thickly, looking back up to them, breathing hard as his eyes filled with anger again, "Hmm?" he raised his eyebrows at them, looking back and forth between them accusingly, "Now, you let me grieve, hmm? How could you do that?" he demanded, glaring at them as Sherlock looked down, biting his lip guiltily and a pained expression crossed Amelia's face, "How?" he repeated in a furious whisper.

"Wait," Sherlock began hastily, holding up a hand, "Before you do anything that you might regret…"

"Or might not regret," Amelia muttered warily, eyeing John as his glare grew even more intense with anger, if that was even possible. She was quite shocked that steam wasn't shooting out of his nose and ears right about now.

He shifted slightly on the spot; his hand still raised, "Um, one question," he continued, speaking fast, "Just let me ask one question. Um…" he suddenly broke into a broad smile, looking close to giggling as he gestured up towards his still pinkish upper lip, "Are you really going to keep that?" he asked him, glancing at Mary, who laughed in disbelief.

"Oh, God," the brunet breathed, horrified that he had seriously, at a time like this, just asked John about his bloody moustache.

John took a long, deep breath and suddenly threw himself at Sherlock, grabbing him by his lapels and shoving him backwards across the restaurant. Amelia gasped and leaped out of the way as the grin on Sherlock's face vanished, his eyes widening as he was practically thrown onto the floor by John as he furiously began trying to throttle him, his hands wrapping around his throat. All the while waiters and Mary and Amelia tried to pull them apart before anyone could actually be killed, which seemed highly likely with the look of murderous rage on John's face right about now…

…

Thankfully, John didn't end up killing Sherlock, though he had left several nasty bruises on Sherlock's throat that he was keeping hidden by his scarf and upturned coat collar. Needless to say all four of them had now been banned from the restaurant and the manager had threatened to call the police on them, and so they had been forced to relocate to a small café just around the corner. Sherlock and Amelia sat on one side of the table, looking back across to where John and Mary where sitting on the other side, their arms crossed across their chests, their expressions hard.

"I calculated that there were thirteen possibilities once I'd invited Moriarty onto the roof," Sherlock started to explain, his hands and fingers pressed together just beneath his chin, "I wanted to avoid dying if at all possible. The first scenario involved hurling myself into a parked hospital van filled with washing bags…"

"How you thought that would actually work in real life, I have no idea," Amelia commented, shaking her head. The idea sounded completely absurd to her, something that you would only see happen in a kid's cartoon or action movie that tended to ignore the laws of physics for the purpose of looking impressive to the audience.

John's eyes narrowed, focusing on her, "So you were in on all of it?" he asked, his voice carrying a steely note in it, "It wasn't just him…" he threw Sherlock a angry glare before turning back to Amelia, "It was you, too?"

She winced, shifting awkwardly in her chair, "I'm so sorry, John," she said quietly, wishing he would stop looking at her like that, with so much anger and, well, hurt. Still, she couldn't say she was surprised and he did have every right to feel like he did with them.

Sherlock cleared his throat, drawing some of the attention off Amelia, "As Amelia said, that idea was impossible," he agreed, trying to get back on track, "The angle was too steep. Secondly, a system of Japanese wrestling…"

"You know, for a genius you can be remarkably thick," John cut across him, his expression growing hard again.

"What?" he blinked, confused.

"I don't care how you two faked it," he told him tightly, "I wanna know why".

"Why?" he frowned, bewildered that he would even ask such a question, "Because Moriarty had to be stopped…."

Amelia placed a hand on his arm, glancing at John's expression, noting the frustration on his face, "That's not what he means, Holmes," she said softly.

He looked back John and finally noticed his expression, "Oh," he said slowly, nodding in realisation, "'Why,' as in…" he pointed at John, who nodded at him, "I see," he looked down at the red and white plastic check table cloth for a moment, before lifting his eyes back up to him, "Yes. 'Why?' That's a little more difficult to explain".

"I've got all night," John said darkly.

"Well, technically, it was mostly Mycroft's idea," Amelia informed him, almost blurting the words out.

"Oh, so it's his brother's plan?" he asked in an eerily calm voice, pointing a finger at Sherlock.

"Oh, they both would have needed a confidant…" Mary spoke up, glancing at John as she gestured to Sherlock and Amelia. Sherlock hummed in agreement as Amelia looked at her in surprise, not having expected her to actually defend them. John, on the other hand, simply stared at her as if he had never seen her before, making her grimace slightly apologetically and lower her hand, "Sorry," she told him, slightly sheepishly, before crossing her arms back across her chest and looking down.

John turned back to Sherlock and Amelia, "But he was the only one?" he asked, raising his eyebrows at them, "The only one who knew?"

"Well…" Amelia trailed off, glancing at Sherlock, biting her bottom lip.

Sherlock briefly closed his eyes, "Couple of others," he admitted, almost as if he was forcing the words out, looking back to John, who ducked his head, "It was a very elaborate plan, it had to be," he quickly went on, taking a deep breath, "The next of the thirteen possibilities…"

"Who else?" John sighed heavily, lifting his head to look back up to them, "Who else knew?" Sherlock and Amelia hesitated, exchanging a uncertain look, "Who?" he demanded, annoyed.

"Molly," Amelia answered, cringing. She knew that he wouldn't be happy about this one.

"Molly?" he exclaimed angrily.

"John…" Mary warned softly, seeing him getting worked up all over again.

"Molly Hooper," Sherlock continued hurriedly, looking directly at John, "And some of my homeless network, and that's all".

"For him, anyway," Amelia muttered, recalling her own rescue from the car that her brother had tried to drown her in. There had even been a two man diving crew and two paramedics involved in her fake death, though, she really didn't think that John needed to hear all about that right now.

"Okay," John nodded, sitting up straighter in his chair and glancing at Mary, who gave him a small, sympathetic smile. He looked back to them, focusing on Sherlock, "Okay. So just your brother, and Molly Hooper, and a hundred tramps".

"No!" Sherlock laughed, shaking his head before turning serious, "Twenty five at the most".

John was on his feet in seconds and pushing his chair back as he practically hurled himself across the table at Sherlock, grabbing him by his shoulders as knives and folks clattered onto the floor.

"John!" Amelia shouted, her eyes widening in alarm.

….

And so, after yet another fight which involved John hitting Sherlock and splitting his lower lip, they found themselves standing in the small kebab shop that was just across road from the café that they were now also banned from. John and Mary stood beside each other, leaning with their backs against the counter, purposely avoiding looking at either Sherlock or Amelia as they stood opposite them. Amelia was holding Sherlock's coat folded over her arm, watching as he dabbed at the faintly bleeding cut on his lower lip with a tissue that she had retrieved from her handbag. He pulled the tissue back and glanced at the blood, wincing as he pressed it back against his lip.

"It could have been worse," Amelia remarked to him, trying to sound positive as she held back a sympathetic cringe. It had been a fairly good punch, though it probably would have been a lot worse had she not been hanging on to John's arm, trying to stop him.

"The nights still young," Sherlock muttered, loud enough so that only she could hear. He looked around her to where John was still avoiding looking at them, "Seriously, it's not a joke?" he asked him with a frown, pulling the tissue away and gesturing up to his own top lip. John finally looked at him, "You're…you're really keeping this?"

John cleared his throat, "Yeah," he nodded, shifting slightly awkwardly on the spot. He almost seemed embarrassed now that he had calmed down after trying to kill Sherlock. Again.

He nodded, as if accepting it, before…"Sure?" he narrowed his eyes.

"Mary likes it".

"Mmmmmm, no, she doesn't".

"Sherlock…" Amelia said, her tone warning as she glanced warily at John. The last thing she wanted was for yet another fight to break out.

John didn't even blink, "She's does," he told him, seeming to be completely certain.

"She doesn't," Sherlock argued, looking away from him and lifting the tissue back up to dab at his lip.

John glanced over to Mary, only to do a double take when she didn't say anything. She hastily opened her mouth, avoiding meeting his eyes as she muttered something to low for anyone to actually understand, "Oh!" he exclaimed, embarrassedly trying to cover his moustache with his hand, realising that it was true, "Brilliant".

"I'm sorry," Mary sighed, cringing slightly, looking rather embarrassed herself at having been outed, "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't know how to tell you…"

"No, no, this is charming," he said sarcastically, pointing angrily back to Sherlock with a glare, "I've really missed this!"

"Let's just forget about it," Amelia cut in calmly, raising her voice slightly to be heard over John, "There's more important things to be discussing right now, so let's focus on those," she gave Sherlock a pointed. If he hadn't kept bringing up that damn moustache, perhaps they could have been sitting down in that café still, drinking tea and coffee rather then this kebab shop that was giving her flashbacks to her university days.

Silence fell over their little group for a moment, before John stepped closer to Sherlock and Amelia, glaring furiously at them both, "One word, from either of you," he hissed, looking back and forth between them, "That is all I would have needed. One word to let me know that you were alive!" he took a step back, breathing heavily.

Amelia closed her eyes, wincing, "You have no idea how much I…" she paused, glancing at Sherlock, who gave her a small nod, "How much we both wanted to contact you," she corrected herself, looking back to John, "You have no idea how close I came to sending you a message these last two Christmases, or even just a simple text on your birthday, but…"

John cut her off with a disbelieving laugh, shaking his head as he refused to look at either her or Sherlock again, his eyes fixed on the floor. He knew them, he knew Amelia and he knew that if she had really wanted to send him a message, then she would have.

Sherlock cleared his throat, placing an almost comforting hand on Amelia's shoulder as hurt crossed her face, "I worried that, you know, you might say something indiscreet," he explained to him, "Amelia disagreed…"

"Oh, no," Amelia breathed, looking nervously at John.

His head snapped back up to stare at them, "What?"

"You know, let the cat out of the bag…" he continued, shrugging.

He stepped closer to them again, "Oh, so this is my fault?" he snapped.

"Oh, God!" Mary laughed in disbelief, tilting her head back and closing her eyes in exasperation at how upset John was getting over the whole thing.

"Why am I the only one who thinks this is wrong?" John shouted angrily, looking back to her, "The only one reacting like a human being?"

"Over-reacting," Sherlock rolled his eyes.

Amelia groaned, putting her head in her hands, "You just don't know when to stop talking, do you, Holmes?"

"'Over-reacting!'" John repeated loudly, furious.

"John!" Mary called, trying to get him to calm down and stop shouting as everyone in the shop stared at them.

"'Over-reacting!'" he continued shouting, turning back to glare at Sherlock, completely ignoring the attention that they had drawn to themselves, "So you two fake your own deaths…"

"Shh!" Sherlock tried to hush him as Amelia warily cast a look around them.

"And you two waltz in 'ere, large as bloody life…"

"Shh!"

"John!" Amelia hissed, but he simply continued on with his rant.

He stepped closer to them, dropping his voice very slightly, "…but I'm not supposed to have a problem with that, no, because Sherlock Holmes and Amelia Wilson think it's a perfectly OKAY THING TO DO!" he finished off yelling.

"Shut up, John!" Sherlock shouted at him, finally getting the chance, "We don't want everyone knowing we're still alive!"

"Oh, so it's still a secret, is it?" he demanded furiously.

"Yes! It's still a secret," he looked around at the other customers and staff in the shop, some of whom now trying to pretend as if they weren't listening in. He glanced back at John, "Promise you won't tell anyone?"

"Swear to God!" John shouted sarcastically, before pausing, some of his anger fading as he noticed that the customers around them were exchanging uncomfortable looks. He took a step back, releasing a loud sigh.

Amelia shifted awkwardly, taking a deep breath, "John," she began carefully, making him look back to her, his expression still tight, "I really don't blame you for being so upset, but right now we need you to listen. Please, just for a moment," she half pleaded, licking her lips as she quickly cast a look around the room, before turning back to him and lowering her voice, "There's going to be a terrorist attack in London, possibly within the next few days. London is in danger, John, very grave danger".

"We need your help," Sherlock added seriously, his voice soft.

John's eyes widened and he looked over to Mary, as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing before he turned back to them, "My help?"

Sherlock eyed him, slowly smirking, "You have missed this," he remarked, "Admit it. The thrill of the chase, the blood pumping through your veins, just the three of us against the rest of the world…"

John grabbed him by his lapels and reeled his head back, a murderous expression on his face…

….

And so, for hopefully the last time that night, they found themselves kicked out of the kebab shop and out onto the chilly street. Sherlock's nose was bleeding heavily as he tried to stop the flow by holding a thick wad of tissues and napkins against his nostrils after John had head butted him and then proceeded to try strangling him once more, until Mary and Amelia were able to pull them apart. Amelia sighed slightly as she noticed that in the struggle some of the blood had splattered onto her white blazer and pale blue dress, no doubt staining them both. It was a shame; she really did love this outfit, too.

"I don't understand," Sherlock winced slightly, his voice sounding very congested. He reached up and pinched the bridge of his nose, tilting his head back, still using his other hand to hold the tissues beneath his nose, "I said I'm sorry. Isn't that what you're supposed to do?"

"Lower your head," Amelia sighed, placing a hand on his arm, "Putting your head back with a blood nose will only make the blood run down your throat and make you feel worse. You need to let the blood run out, not back in".

He looked back to her, "Since when are you a nurse?"

"Since I had to play school teacher for the past two years," she replied, "Doing yard duty means dealing with kids getting hurt, blood noses being common. I'm right, aren't I, Mary?" she glanced at the blonde woman.

"She's right," Mary agreed, and Sherlock sighed but still bent over slightly with his head down. She shook her head, thinking about his question about what he had done wrong to earn a blood nose in the first place, "Gosh, you don't know anything about human nature, do you?" she asked.

"Hmm, nature?" he paused, as if thinking about it, "No. Human?" he glanced back up to her, smirking behind the tissues, "No".

Mary smiled, glancing at Amelia, who laughed and shook her head, almost fondly. She cast a quick look over her shoulder to see that John had hailed a cab and was standing several feet away, by the curb, watching them with a frown, "I'll talk him round," she told them, turning back.

Sherlock and Amelia both blinked, surprised, "You will?" he said curiously, lowering the tissues.

"Oh, yeah," she nodded, her smile broadening.

Amelia couldn't help it, but she was surprised that Mary would be so, well, understanding. Her reaction to them being alive was not at all the type of reaction that a person would usually have, which made her all the more curious about just who this woman was. It was easy enough for her to deduce from a simple glance of her that she was a size 12, a nurse, short sighted, and an only child…but the most curious thing that just kept popping up the more that she tried to figure her out was that she was a liar. A liar of what, she didn't have a clue, it was too early to get enough data like that to read. Still, she liked Mary, she couldn't help it, she just did and whatever she was hiding, she was almost positive that they would figure it out, hopefully it was just a small lie but in her line of work, she supposed there really wasn't such a thing as a small lie.

"Mary?" John called over to them, opening the back door of the cab and standing back, waiting.

Mary looked back to them and gave them one last smile, before turning and heading over to join John. They climbed into the cab while Sherlock and Amelia watched as it drove off down the street, disappearing from sight.

Amelia lifted her hand in a wave, glancing out of the corner of her eye to Sherlock, who was frowning very slightly, "Did you notice that she's a liar?" she asked him curiously.

"Of course," he replied, pressing the tissue back against his nose, but he didn't elaborate further. She suspected it was probably because he was just as clueless as her, but didn't want to admit it.

She looked at him properly and reached out to touch his arm, making him look back to her, "John can't stay angry at us forever," she said softly, trying to give him a reassuring smile, "He'll come around, he always does. He forgave me when I lied about my brother, he can forgive this".

"Hmm, just how many more times will I have to be strangled first?" he said thoughtfully, wincing as he dabbed at his nose as it began bleeding again.

"Come on," she smiled, taking his free hand, making him blink in mild surprise. She was never so touchy two years ago, especially not to him. It was a strange development, "Let's get you cleaned up, you look awful".

"Thank you," he said sarcastically.

She shook her head but didn't bother to respond, simply continuing to lead him off down the footpath, her heels clicking as they went.

…

It had been a long day for Molly Hooper and she couldn't have been more happy to see that her shift at Bart's hospital was finally over and that she would have the next two days completely to herself. She walked down the hallway of the hospital to the locker room, wincing slightly as she rubbed at her shoulder as it arched after spending the day hunched over at her computer, getting some paperwork down. She stepped into the small room and headed straight over to the back wall where her locker was, retrieving her keys from her pocket and unlocked the door. She pulled it open, only to look up and gasp as, in the mirror on the inside of the locker door, she caught sight of Amelia and Sherlock's reflections smiling back at her. She whirled around to find the pair standing a few steps behind her and couldn't help the wide smile that crossed her face, delighted to see them again.

"Molly!" Amelia cried, laughing as she threw her arms around the shorter woman.

"Amelia," Molly smiled, hugging her back before they pulled apart, her eyes moving to rest on Sherlock, who still remained slightly back from them, his hands clasped together behind his back, "Hello, Sherlock," she said with a small smile.

"Molly," he nodded to her.

….

Lestrade was making his way across an underground parking garage, searching through his pockets for something as he went. He paused for a brief moment and frowned, listening as for a brief moment he had thought he had heard the sound of high heels clicking on concrete floor, but when the sound didn't come again, he shook his head and continued patting his pockets down. Suddenly, something metallic clattered loudly from the shadows behind him and he stopped again, looking back over his shoulder, but there was nothing there. He went back to his search and finally found what he was looking for, his box of cigarettes and a lighter. He grabbed one and stuck it in his mouth, lifting his lighter and flicking the flame on, moving it up towards the end of his cigarette…

"Those thing'll kill you," a male voice came from out of the darkness, making Lestrade freeze, just about to lit the cigarette, staring ahead of him as he tried to work out if he had seriously just heard that voice.

"And in a parking garage?" another voice spoke through the darkness, this time a woman's that carried a light Irish accent. Lestrade's eyes widened, "Really, Lestrade, how high school of you to be sneaking around, smoking".

He flickered the lighter, cutting off the flame, "Ooh, you bastard!" he said around his cigarette, reaching up to pulling it out of his mouth as he turned to look into the shadows where their voices had come from, "And you little…"

A feminine laugh sounded, "Best not to finish that sentence, I think," she warned him playfully.

"It's time to come back," Sherlock remarked as he and Amelia both stepped out of the shadows towards Lestrade, "You've been letting things slide, Graham".

"Greg!" Lestrade corrected, exasperated.

"It's Greg, Holmes," Amelia said at the same time, shaking her head.

Sherlock blinked, looking slightly thrown, "Greg," he corrected himself, practically already forgetting it.

Lestrade looked back and forth between them for a moment, looking for one brief moment as if he might actually punch Sherlock. He began to move towards them both when…he suddenly lunged at them and wrapped his arms around them both, almost knocking their heads together as Sherlock groaned as his ribs arched painfully and Amelia blinked, quite startled to find herself being hugged so tightly, pressed very closely against Sherlock's side. Of course, neither of them said a word or even tried to break free, Amelia going so far as to awkwardly pat Lestrade on his back as she managed to get her arm free. Quite frankly, they were both too relieved that another fight hadn't occurred to be too picky about how Lestrade showed his happiness about their return. Though, if he tried to kiss Amelia, that was where she was going to have draw the line, as much as she might have loved Lestrade, it just simply didn't extend that far.

….

It was almost midnight and Mrs Hudson was standing by her kitchen sink with a pair of purple gloves on, washing up her pan before heading off to bed. The radio was going in the background and she listened to it absently as she scrubbed at the pan's surface.

"…with an anti-terrorism bill this important," the male news reporter was saying over the radio, "The government feels duty bound to push through the legislation with due expe…"

She froze as a noise came from outside in the hall, like the front door being opened. She leant over and switched the radio off as another bang sounded, followed by what sounded like a muffled voice, though it was too low for her to even be able to tell the gender. She hastily grabbed the pan from the sink, dripping water all across her floor as she carried it with her through her flat and over to her front door, slowly reaching up to unlock it. It creaked loudly as she pulled it open, still wearing her rubber gloves as she carefully stepped out into the dimly lit entrance hall, her pan raised as a weapon before her.

The front door swung shut as she looked ahead to where a frost pane of glass was on the internal door, only for her eyes to widen in shock and disbelief a silhouette of a very familiar, curly haired man and another silhouette of a woman with her hair tied back appeared. The man opened the door and none other than Sherlock Holmes and, just behind him, Amelia Wilson stepped into view.

Mrs Hudson began screaming in completely shock, dropping the pan.

…

It had taken both Amelia and Sherlock some time to calm Mrs Hudson down, well, more like it had taken Amelia some time, Sherlock had stuck around for five minutes before disappearing upstairs to check on his flat. Thankfully, Mrs Hudson decided to head to bed and Amelia was given the chance to make her own escape, feeling thoroughly tired now as she half dragged herself up the wooden staircase, but she wasn't so tired that she couldn't manage a broad smile as she stepped into Sherlock's living room to find it exactly the same as it had been two years, be it covered with a thick layer of dust. Sherlock had already plopped down in his armchair by the fireplace, not seeming to be the slightest bit concerned by the dust as he sat with his finger tips pressed together just beneath his chin, his eyes closed.

Amelia pulled her blazer off and left it lying on the arm of couch. It didn't matter now if it got dirty, it already had blood on it. She took her shoes off and left them by the coffee table as she headed off through the kitchen and down the hallway, stepping into the bathroom. She easily found the first aid kit that John had insured was stocked with everything, from a stitchers kit to even a drug testing kit in case Sherlock started using again. She grabbed a bottle of antiseptic cream and a few sterile cotton swabs. She made her way back out to the living room to find Sherlock in exactly the same position that he had been when she left, and shook her head.

"Stop pretending as if you don't know what I'm going to do," she sighed, balancing the medical supplies in her hands.

His eyes cracked open and he looked up at her, letting his hands drop down to rest on the armrests on his chair, "I don't need that," he told her, nodding to the supplies.

"Holmes, I'm tired, therefore I don't have the patience to deal with your charming personality right now and would much rather be currently organising a hotel room so that I can sleep, but I would be a pretty rubbish friend if I didn't tend to that cut lip".

He let out a long suffering sigh, "Fine".

Amelia stepped forward and moved his right arm from off the armrest so that she could sit down on it. She placed the medical supplies on the small table beside her and unscrewed the creams lid before removing the cotton swab from its plastic covering, dipping it into the cream and turning back to Sherlock, who was watching her. Had she not been so used to that unnerving stare of his that seemed to see right through a person, she might have been slightly nervous, but she was used to him now and simply reached forward to gently lift his chin up so that she could get his head on an angle so that she could work.

"This will sting," she warned as she tried hard to be gentle as she brushed the swab onto the cut on his lip. He simply rolled his eyes at her, as if that was obviously, though he did still hiss very slightly when she first touched the cut, "Sorry," she muttered, meeting his eyes briefly. She finished as quickly as she could and even though he probably had been right, she did feel slightly better for having tried to help him, "There we go, finished".

"Did you enjoy it?" he asked suddenly.

She frowned slightly, glancing back over to him as she began screwing the lid back on the cream and rolled the used swab up in its wrappers, "I'm sorry?"

"Being a teacher," he clarified, seeming to be genuinely curious.

"Oh, well, yes," she paused, turning back to face him properly, crossing her legs as she carefully maintained her balance on the chair arm, "It was harder than I expected and there was more work then I had imagined, but it was nice to see those kids learn," she smiled faintly, almost proudly, "And it was very satisfying knowing that I had helped them to learn".

"Thinking about giving up detective work?"

"No," she shook her head, laughing at the idea, "Goodness, no. Teaching was enjoyable, but it was still just a job. Detective work, that's my true calling, my passion".

"I'm sure that Robert Cook will be very disappointed to hear that," Sherlock remarked casually, far too casually for Amelia's comfort.

Amelia frowned deeply, something not sounding completely right, and then it clicked into place, "Hang on…I never mentioned Robert's first name," she said slowly, narrowing her eyes at him, "There's no way for you to know that, unless…" she sighed, closing her in exasperation, "Mycroft. He would have a file on him, so you got him to send you a copy…" Sherlock stood suddenly, so suddenly that she very nearly toppled right off the armrest before she managed to catch herself. He turned away from her and strolled across to draw the lacy curtains over the windows back slightly, peering down at the darken street below. She eyed his back, her eyes still narrowed, "You're jealous," she deduced after a moment.

He scoffed, not looking at her, "I don't get jealous".

"Everyone get's jealous, including you".

"No, I don't".

The corner of her mouth rose, knowing for certain that she was right and the way he was acting now, that only proved it even more, "You sound like a child now," she commented lightly, smoothing the skirt of her dress down, "I must say, I'm rather flattered".

Sherlock turned around to face her, glaring, "I am not jealous," he insisted through clenched teeth.

"Why else would you read Robert's file?"

"Perhaps I was just curious".

"Oh, I imagine you were, but the underlying emotion was jealousy," she smiled and stood, shrugging as she began collecting up the cream and used swab to put in the bin, "Anyway, while this discussion as been very educational, I think I ought to organise that hotel room now…" she headed into the kitchen and put the cream on the kitchen counter while she chucked the swab in the bin.

Sherlock appeared in the doorway, frowning at her, "Don't be ridiculous," he told her, seeming to be more then pleased to be moving past the discussion about whether or not he was jealous, "You will be staying here".

Amelia blinked, spinning around on her heel to stare at him, "I couldn't possibly…"

"Why not?"

"Well, John's moved out and he would have taken his bed. I can hardly sleep on that sofa, I would end up putting my neck out and getting a migraine…"

"So sleep in my bed," he cut across her, making her very nearly gape at him for even suggesting that, and so casually, too. He shook his head at her reaction, "I'm unlikely to use it tonight".

"Sherlock, you need to sleep," she sighed, a frown crossing her face as she thought it all over. There was only really one conclusion that she could come to, "Fine, I'll stay here, but I can't possibly completely take over your bed. You need sleep just as much as I do, Holmes, so I insist that we share. Just for tonight," she added hastily, "I'll find somewhere else to sleep for tomorrow".

"There's always John's room. As you said, it's empty…"

She stared at him, startled, "Are you…suggesting that I, what? Move in here with you?"

"You have nowhere else…"

"Not completely true, I do have my town house".

"That's hardly ideal for working together," Sherlock said, shaking his head, "Belgravia is to far…"

Amelia burst out laughing, simply unable to help herself, "It's only sixteen minutes by car, thirteen if I take a shortcut," she smirked slowly at him, "You must be really desperate to get me to move in if you're trying to use that flimsy excuse, Holmes".

"You don't own a car".

"I can easily buy one, I can certainly afford it".

"Amelia, be logical about this," he sighed heavily, frustration entering his voice, "Living next door was ideal for working on cases, living in a completely different area of London will waste time".

Amelia reached up to rub her forehead, but she could see the logic in his argument. Living next door had been perfect, she had her own space and still been close to Sherlock and John so that she never, or, at least, hardly never missed out of anything during a case. And well, quite frankly she wasn't entirely sure if she even wanted to move back to her town house, sure she was still very fond of it and she would never be able to bring herself to sell it, but to move back there just wasn't really what she wanted now. It had suited her when she had worked by herself, but things were different now, she was different and she supposed that travel time would cut into their cases together when she was probably more likely to spend most of her time around Baker Street then her own home if she moved back into the town house. Still, living with Sherlock, was that truly wise, even as a friend? She had feelings for him, that much was clear, and while he was tricky to read she suspected that it wasn't one way, either, which would only add on another potential awkward situation if they lived together.

"Sherlock," she began warily, looking back up to him, her mind still spinning, "Can we discuss this late? I'm tired, so tired that I'm not even hungry and my brain hurts from thinking. Tomorrow, maybe, we can continue".

"Of course," he nodded.

She gave him a small smile and began to head for his bedroom, feeling weird that she was even going in there in the first place. She had only ever gone in their twice, once with John when Sherlock had been drugged and at Christmas time when Irene Adler had faked her death. The first time. She paused, though, and glanced back to him, "Night, Holmes," she called to him.

"Goodnight, Amelia".

I'm sorry about the wait, school and then I got sick, but things are starting to happen between Amelia and Sherlock now, even going so far as to ask Amelia to move in with him. I guess we'll just have to see what happens in that regard.

Next chapter, Mycroft misses the bickering, Sherlock apologises to Amelia for something, and Amelia finds her next outfit amusing. I hope you liked it, please review :)

Guest review:

Waterlily91: Yep, Amelia and Sherlock are back, and Amelia certainly hasn't escaped John's anger or hurt. They've got a bit to go before John will be willing to forgive them at this point, I'm afraid. Thanks for the review :)