AN: Anyone surprised I put an actual chapter up? Oops.

Chapter 3: Welcome Back

Amber stood in the back of the debriefing room with the rest of Mycroft's personal investigative team. She lingered, not willing to step forward and make conversation. She had already endured many glares and whispers behind her back. Phantom voices of how she betrayed the team haunted her everywhere she went.

What she wouldn't give for a drink right now.

Meanwhile, Sherlock was just waking up over at 221B Baker Street.

"Afternoon, John," he said, pouring himself a cup of tea.

John looked over at him from his computer. "Have you been asleep this whole time?"

Sherlock ignored him and peered over John's shoulder at the computer screen. "'Although he won't admit it, Sherlock seems to have taken a liking to Miss Amber'? John what kind of writing are you trying to publish here? I have not 'taken a liking' to anyone."

John laughed a bit and moved his computer screen away from Sherlock. "I knew you would read it so I wanted to see what your reaction would be. I'm not going to publish it."

Sherlock stood straight and looked between John and the computer. "Did you just perform an experiment on me?"

John looked over his shoulder with a mischievous gleam in his eyes. "I believe I did."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow but went back to his tea. His phone buzzed with a message.

Woman murdered on Durward St.

Brutal case, I think you would like it.

"Looks like we have another case on our hands," Sherlock said aloud.

John was already looking at his phone. "Yeah, Lestrade texted me too. Ready to go?"

Sherlock didn't care that he was still wearing yesterday's clothes. Or that he had slept in them. "I'm always ready, John."

Amber stood on the outskirts of the crime scene, as directed by Mycroft. No one knew of his personal private investigative team besides the best of Scotland Yard. Mycroft had instructed her to not get involved in this one, just pretend she was an officer and not interfere with the case until people started trusting her again.

She eyed the scene. It was a gruesome murder. Worse than the most of the ones she'd scene before.

"Welcome back, Amber," she muttered to herself.

The poor woman had been slit across the throat so deep you could nearly see bone. If that wasn't enough, a jagged wound ran through her stomach, and several cuts to her side. Amber grimaced, inching a little closer to the scene of the crime, pulling her hat low over her face. Two amateur cops loudly spoke their thoughts aloud, making it difficult for Amber to think.

"I'll tell ya what happened," cried one. "This woman got in a domestic with her husband and she walked out on him. He followed her and got a little handsy and swiped her clean across the throat, disembowelin' her in a anger-fueled rage."

"No way, you've got it all wrong!" replied the other. "She owed someone money, for sure. One of those street gangs, no doubt. From buying drugs, most likely, but she wasn't paying up. The man warned her of course but she refused so he disemboweled her first and then cut up her throat. It's as clear as that."

Amber snorted and then quickly covered her mouth, hiding her face from the men.

"Oh what, you think you know something better, miss?" called the first man.

Amber turned, the faintest of smirks resting upon her face. "I'm not here to cause any trouble. But give me a minute and I'm sure I can prove both of you wrong."

The second man waved his arm forward, daring her to make her best guess. She turned back around to the bloody scene, already knowing more than both of them.

"First off, there most likely wasn't an attack from a husband, or a wife for that matter. There is no ring, but if you look closely she has a fading tan line around her finger. I imagine she's been divorced or separated for half a year now. Also there is little sign of a struggle, other than the obvious injuries, so whoever did this to her was someone she either didn't see coming or-"

"Or someone who she didn't have a reason not to trust," a voice said, cutting her off.

Amber turned to the intruder. "Oh. I wasn't really expecting to see you again."

"That's a shame. John, are you coming?"

The shorter doctor, who was back a bit talking to a dark-haired officer about the murder, waved Sherlock off. The conversing officer frowned in disgust when seeing Sherlock. John said his goodbyes and walked over.

"Miss Cromwell. Are you here to survey the crime scene?" John asked.

"Yes. Mycroft invited me back on his team, although the others don't know that," she responded, lowering her voice.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow but quickly seem disinterested, pulling away from the conversation and dipping under the yellow tape Amber had been so careful to not cross. John shrugged and followed suit.

"Coming?" Sherlock said.

Amber looked around before realizing he was talking to her. "Oh- Uh, yes," she stuttered.

Sherlock and John didn't wait up. The tall detective was already leaning over the dead body, stating things aloud to John who bounced back ideas quickly. She stood behind the duo, taking mental notes of everything she could see.

"She was on her way to meet a client," Sherlock said.

"Client?" asked John.

Amber was the one who stepped in. "She was a prostitute. More common than you think."

John wasn't fazed by her quick wits. "So was it the client that attacked her?"

"No," Sherlock and Amber answered at the same time. They gave each other a short glance at the unconventional synchronism.

"Perhaps an old friend, then?" John asked, looking between Amber and Sherlock.

Sherlock squinted at the body. "Perhaps."

Amber turned to a nearby officer. "Have there been any reports of a murder similar to this one in the past year or so?"

The officer scoffed. "I think I would have remembered something similar to this. No, this seems to be an isolated crime. This is nothing we've seen before."

Amber thanked the officer and squatted next to the body, a confused look on her face. John looked at her curiously.

"This case seems so familiar," she said, to answer his questioning looks. "I know there hasn't been anything recently… but it seems like a repeat. I can't quite place it," Amber said. Sherlock nodded his agreement.

"And look here," John added, pointing around the body where blood faintly stained the ground. "The amount of blood there is does not add up to the amount of blood there should be."

Amber crossed her arms, biting her lip in thought. She closed her eyes, sliding through potential motives and attackers that could be related to this crime. Before she could think any more, a man with graying hair trotted up to the scene, letting out a sigh once seeing Sherlock. The dark-haired officer John was speaking to earlier followed suit, clearly not happy to be here. Amber squinted at the officer's name tag and saw "ANDERSON" engraved on the plate.

"Any theories?" asked the graying man.

"Lestrade, good to see you again," John said, grimacing at the body. "Hello to you as well, Anderson."

"Nine," said Sherlock.

Philip Anderson and Greg Lestrade both turned to Sherlock. "Nine what?" Greg asked.

"Theories. Nine theories as to what happened," he replied, not looking up from the body.

Greg's eyes widened, looking at Sherlock for some explanation of this brown-haired girl. "And who might you be, exactly?" he asked.

Amber looked at the ground, knowing she had crossed the line Mycroft told her not to cross. She opened her mouth, ready to give some excuse before Sherlock cut her off.

"A colleague of mine," Sherlock said, hardly caring for minor details. "She's with me."

"I see," Lestrade said. "Well, what do you know so far?"

Sherlock reeled off what he knew while John and Amber stood around the body.

Amber sniffed the air. "Is there a pub nearby that you know of?" she said to John.

John raised an eyebrow. "I hardly think now is the time for a drink, but I-"

"No, that's not what I meant. Don't you smell that? Smells almost like a brewery."

The doctor turned up his nose and nodded his agreement. "You're right. I wonder what Sherlock will think of that."

Amber snorted, "I'm sure he already noticed." John gave her a strange look and looked back at the body.

"She's got blood in her hair. Look at how it dried," John mentioned, pointing to the woman's stained hair. "But then you look at the ground and there's little to nothing.

"So she was killed somewhere else? And then the killer dragged her out in the open for anyone to see? That makes no sense," Amber replied. "It's like they wanted everyone to see it."

John looked at the body gravely. "Perhaps they did."

Lestrade ordered from behind them,"Anderson, follow up with the forensics team and get as many pictures as you can. Tell Sergeant Donovan to block off Durward Street and any passageways into it. I don't want this getting out to the press just yet." He faced Sherlock, "I'll get Molly's coronary report to you when it comes. Be in touch."

Sherlock nodded, already lost in thought. He circled the body as Lestrade walked away. The tall man stooped low, covered the woman's hand with his cloak, and gently pulled something out of her grip. He hesitated, looking at her injuries for a moment more. Amber watched as he swiftly stood up, tucking whatever he found into his coat pocket and walked away from the crime scene.

"John, get a taxi."

John began walking away before giving a half-hearted wave to Amber. Sherlock hardly noticed, his mind too distracted with whatever he had found in the dead woman's hand.

Amber drifted slowly away from the crime scene, watching the duo climb into the cab out of the corner of her eye. A small part of her felt tugged towards them, but she held back and simply watched them go. She looked up and saw a street camera moving slowly around the scene.

"I know that's you watching me, Mycroft," she muttered, smiling at the camera and giving it a big thumbs up. The camera paused on her and she just rolled her eyes. "I promise I won't get involved with this case." The camera lingered on her for a moment longer, then moved on.

When she turned around again, Sherlock and John were long gone. No point in standing around here, I guess. She walked to the edge the street to where Donovan was busy blocking the road. Tucking her hat over her face, Amber began assisting the other officers where she could. Every once in a while she would look back at the scene of the crime and wonder about the dead woman, now long gone.

She soon realized she was the only one from Mycroft's team still there. His team was extensive but invisible, and only those who knew of it would be able to pick out its members. He kept them around to make sure everything was going smoothly where he couldn't see. Mycroft probably would do just as well without them, Amber realized, but assumed he had his reasons. While thinking this over, she searched through her pockets for some money for a taxi, only to turn up empty.

Amber sighed and began the walk back to her flat. Slowly it started to drizzle. Amber groaned and walked a little faster, eventually making it to her place but still managing to get soaking wet. She sighed, throwing her coat on the floor and shaking out her hair. She was about to change when her telephone rang. Amber froze, sitting herself gently on the bed where she could see the window, and picked up the phone.

"Hello?"

The distorted voice from before answered back. "How's your shoulder?"

A phantom pain coursed through her arm. "I've been through worse."

"I am calling to inform you that the money I promised is on your sofa."

Amber looked and, sure enough, a briefcase lay on her sofa. She shook her head in disbelief.

"Unless you don't want it, of course."

Amber stood up and walked towards her window, peering the curtain back and looking out across the empty street. "What do you want from me?"

"Aren't you curious who I am?"

"Should I be?" she retorted, searching the streets for any sign of life.

"Oh come on, Amber. Have you gotten so rusty this past year that you can't make a simple deduction?"

Her breath caught in her throat. She realized there was only one person this could be, only one person who knew her so well a year ago. "I- I thought that-"

The voice laughed. "Did you really think you could escape for good? You're lucky I let you go as long as I did. Don't you miss your ol' dad?"

"You are not my father, Moran," she said firmly. "You never will be."

The man clicked his tongue, a habit Amber had grown to disgust. "You lied to Mycroft."

"I did not lie," she said, scanning the rooftops.

"You enjoyed the work you did for me. I gave you what Mycroft never could. Freedom. A chance to really use your skills, and not let them rot for trivial things."

Amber cast her eyes to the floor. He was not lying. She hated it at first but, as time went on, she realized she was able to do things she wasn't before. Mycroft was always so cautious of his men turning on him, so he rarely used them for the good work. But with Moran… she was in the field, taking down anyone that threatened Moran's line of business. She was doing real jobs, even investigating the royal family. Moran never got into the details of what the information was for, just that he was smuggling it out. He always said it was for the good of the country.

How stupid she was. Moran never cared about anyone except for himself, let alone the good of the country. He would sell any one of his men out in seconds, even for the slightest bit of info. It wasn't until he got arrested for smuggling information to terrorist groups that she began to realize his true nature.

Amber just listened to the sounds of the streets. "Will you answer my questions?" She paused, waiting for a response. "Why bother protecting the money for the charity ball?"

"An enemy of mine, one your little friend Sherlock dismantled, is dead. For that, I can be grateful. But his network, however small, seeks revenge. They've resorted to miniscule things, like taking money. It's a pity, really," he said. "I have a friend in the east who wanted to make sure they did not succeed."

Amber took a breath. "And Sherlock? Why do you care if he lives or dies?"

"The same network wished to kill Sherlock. With his existence, they stand no chance to rise to the power they once were. Unfortunately, if Sherlock dies then the information he knows dies with him, and I'm afraid I can't let that happen. Not yet."

Amber scoffed into the phone.

He continued, "I'll let this little hide-and-seek game of yours go on for a little while, at least until the real game begins. Then you'll see how much you need me. Goodbye for now, little Amber. You haven't heard the last of me."

Amber let out a breath she didn't realize she was holding in.

"Oh, and one more thing," Moran said. "Let's keep this little conversation between ourselves. We wouldn't want any," he paused as a read beam focused on her chest, "casualties, would we?"

Amber nodded, finally seeing a sniper in a window across the street, too far away for her to make out a face. The phone call ended and she slowly lowered her hands down, remaining motionless until the target on her chest disappeared.

She leapt off the bed as soon as she got the chance, running to the bathroom, nausea threatening to climb up her throat. Amber heaved over the toilet, sweat dripping off her face. The pungent smell of vomit filled her nose. Shaking, she flushed the toilet and slowly stood up to rinse her face in the sink. She stared in the mirror, looking at the water dripping down her flushed face. Even the thought of Moran calling her again made her feel like she would hurl.

In haste, she rolled up her left sleeve and grimaced at the tattoo staining her wrist. A black skull and crossbones laughed menacingly at her, claiming her as one of them, permanently marking her to Moran.

There was no escaping him this time.

AN: I would really love to hear feedback. This story is just as much for you as it is for me. Let me know what you did/didn't understand, and where you see the story going! I know this chapter didn't have very much Sherlock, but I promise you there is a lot of juicy scenes to come. Thank you for reading!

Edited later to clarify some weird wording.