The Writing on the Wall

Amelia peered through the darkened window of the couch that they were riding in through the streets of London, Holmes sitting beside her, while Watson and Lestrade sat on the leather bench like seat opposite them, snippets of weak light casting shadows over their faces as they rode on through the streets, mist hanging thickly in the chill of the December evening as rain lightly hit the windows.

"Who's on mortuary duty?" Holmes asked Lestrade after several minutes of silence.

Lestrade sighed very slightly, his eyes flickering briefly over to Amelia and then back to him, "You know who".

He grimaced slightly and looked out of his window in annoyance, "Always him," he grumbled.

Amelia smirked lightly, looking amused, keeping her eyes firmly fixed on the rain washed window of her side of the couch, pleased that her expression was hidden by the poor lighting. Soon enough they arrived outside Scotland Yard, Campbell climbing down from the front the couch and moving to open the door, one hand holding a very large black umbrella and the other held out to help Amelia down onto the wet street, her boots splashing slightly and the bottom of her skirt already soaking with water, but at least she wouldn't look like a drowned rat by the time she got indoors, gratefully accepting the umbrella from Campbell and holding it above herself, while Holmes, Watson, and Lestrade climbed out behind her, their hats and thick woollen coats offering them far more protection against the rain then her own hat or cloak would have.

They quickly made their way into the building, Amelia closing her umbrella as she stepped over the threshold into the entrance, keeping a hold of the handle as she followed after Lestrade down a long hallway and through a doorway at the very end, walking down a set of steps to the basement level, the air growing colder and more stale as they reached the bottom of the steps, gas lamps lining the brick walls as the ceiling began to curve, reminding Amelia of a train tunnel. They moved down a short, very dark hallway before reaching an old wooden door that Holmes threw open, striding inside the large mortuary room, filled with several wooden tables scattered the length of the room, most of which covered by a white sheet. One such table with a figure covered by a sheet had chains binding it to the table.

"Oh, you must be joking…" Amelia muttered in exasperation at the sight, shaking her head as she came to stand beside Holmes, looking at the metal chains.

Holmes narrowed his eyes on the chains, "Please tell me which idiot did this!" he exclaimed, exchanging a irritated look with Amelia, both unable to believe how absurd everyone was acting, as though someone might actually be able to return from the dead.

In the middle of the room, two men who had been quietly speaking to one another upon their entry stopped and turned towards them, Amelia unsurprised to find Anderson frowning very slightly at them, his front covered by a leather apron. He walked down the room towards them.

"It's for everyone's safety," he told them firmly.

Watson moved around the other side of the table and grabbed the edge of the sheet covering the figure's face, pulling it back to reveal a dark haired women beneath, still wearing an ivory, high necked wedding dress and with makeup smudged all down her face, her lips worst of all, once painted bright red now having bleed around her lips and cheeks, her eyes closed and her skin taking on a bluish tone beneath the makeup. She was very obviously dead; Amelia could see the very large, gaping, bloody hole at the back of her head without even trying to see it, but she had seen worse during her career.

Watson shook his head in disbelief, "This woman is dead," he looked back to Anderson, unable to believe his excuse for chaining a woman's dead body to a table, "Half her head is missing! She's no threat to anyone!"

"Tell that to her husband," Anderson replied with a hint of mocking in his tone, pointing across to the other side of the room, towards a second body lying beneath a sheet, "He's under a sheet over there".

"Oh, this is absurd," Amelia frowned at him, "Surely you must have enough reason to know that it is impossible for this woman…" she pointed the end of her umbrella towards Emelia Ricoletti's body, not taking her gaze off Anderson, "This very dead woman, to be able to commit murder when she was quite dead at the time that her husband also died. There is a logical explanation for the events that occurred in Limehouse last night and those events were not paranormal, I assure you".

Anderson shifted slightly beneath her gaze, before lifting his chin higher, "Stranger things have happened".

Amelia rolled her eyes and shook her head, while Sherlock raised his eyebrows, "Such as?" he demanded, annoyance lacing his voice, unable to believe that they were actually having this conversation with a so called adult. He doubted if William and Agatha would fail to see that there surely had to be a logical explanation behind this, and they weren't even five years old yet.

"Well…" he hesitated as they all looked at him, "Strange things".

"You're speaking like a child," Watson said dismissively, turning back towards Emelia Ricoletti's body, peering closer at the wound.

"You are speaking worse than a child," Amelia huffed, shaking her head as she looked back at the body, eyeing the chains with a hint of disgust. She had always been taught to treat the dead with respect and dignity, this was not dignified, "Honestly, my four year olds demonstrate more intelligence," she frowned deeply, reaching out to lightly touch one of the links binding the woman's arms to the table at her sides, "These chains are a disgrace; they should be removed at once".

"This is clearly a man's work," Holmes remarked, looking back across to Anderson, "Where is he?"

Anderson frowned slightly, seeming quite insulted, but just as he opened his mouth to respond, the door behind them creaked open and they turned to see a rather small figure step into the room, shorter even then Watson, who was an inch shorter then Amelia, the man was hardly what you would call intermediating, but there was something more about him that gave an air of sternness. The man was dressed in a black suit, his brown hair combed neatly and with a small moustache, dark brown eyes narrowed on them.

"Holmes," he said in a deep, gruff voice.

Holmes sighed, earning a sharp, warning look from Amelia. He glanced at her and released another, long suffering sigh, "Hooper," he greeted in a forced polite tone, turning to incline his head towards the much shorter man.

Hooper arched an eyebrow, before glancing over to Amelia, giving her a slightly warming look, "Mrs Holmes, it's good to see you again," he nodded to her, walking towards them, holding out a hand as he neared Amelia.

"And you, Doctor Hooper," Amelia gave him a smile, accepting his offered hand, noting out of the corner of her eye with some amusement the annoyed look that crossed her husband's features, watching their exchange with a frown. She released his hand, raising her eyebrows polity, "How is your sister? I really must try to have tea with her".

"I'm sure she would be delighted, Mrs Holmes," he said lightly, giving her a tiny wink that she would have missed had she not been expecting it, giving her a very faint smile that Amelia struggled not to return with a wider grin, finding it positively hilarious that Molly Hooper, Doctor Hooper's so called sister, was one in the same person and yet, Holmes was none the wiser about it, even though he had meet Molly Hooper many times, Molly even having been one of the few people in attendance to their wedding. Hooper's eye landed on Anderson and suddenly, all of the warmth was gone, replaced by sternness and sharpness, "You," he snapped, glaring at Anderson, "Back to work".

Anderson's eyes widened and he almost frantically nodded, looking almost afraid, much to Amelia's amusement knowing the truth behind the moustache, rather enjoying watching Anderson scurrying away, pausing to grab a metal bucket and a mop that he had apparently been using to clean the floor before they had arrived. Hooper moved to stand around the other side of the table beside Watson, looking over the body to Holmes.

"So," he began, raising his eyebrows at Holmes, "Come to astonish us with your magic tricks, I suppose".

Amelia lightly stepped on Holmes's foot as he opened his mouth, looking ready to snap something back, "Be nice, Sherlock," she muttered out of the corner of her mouth to him.

Holmes shot her a quick look, he never did understand why Amelia insisted upon being so nice to Hooper, what did it matter if she was close friends with his sister? Hooper was intelligent, which made him only slightly bearable, but his attitude towards their work…or rather his work was sorely lacking, usually always filled with mocking and snide remarks that Holmes was more than happy to fire back at, of course Hooper was always far more respectful towards Amelia, there was never any mocking or little comments. He sighed again, turning back towards Hooper, deciding to perhaps try to be civil, if only to spare himself from Amelia's annoyance.

"Is there anything to which you would like to draw our attention?" he asked Hooper, forcing his tone to be polite, turning his gaze onto the body instead.

"Nothing at all for you, Mr Holmes," Hooper replied coldly, staring at him with a mocking glimmer in his cold, brown eyes, "You may leave any time you like".

"Hooper…" Amelia said sharply, giving him a deep frown. She knew why Hooper didn't like Holmes or Watson, well, most men really, after spending so many years desperately striving to be respected and forced to pretend to be someone that he, she, wasn't, forced to live a double life just because of her gender. She understood why Hooper felt that way towards men in general, she sympathised entirely and knew that she probably would have been driven to do the same thing as Hooper had had she not meet Holmes. But not all men were so narrow minded, Amelia was positive that Holmes would keep Hooper's secret, possibly even Watson, though that might be a bit of stretch.

"Doctor Hooper," Lestrade cut in sternly, "I asked Mr Holmes..." Amelia cleared her throat pointedly, "…and Mrs Holmes to come here," he quickly corrected, his eyes flickering over to Amelia and back to Hooper, giving him a firm look, "Co-operate. That's an order".

Hooper stared at him for a moment before glancing at Holmes, who merely raised his eyebrows at him, his eyes narrowing very slightly before he took a long breath and looked down at the body, "There are two 'features of interest,' as you are always saying in Doctor Watson's stories," he began, jerking his head towards Watson as he spoke.

Holmes's head snapped up, startled, "I never say that," he said at once, quickly looking between Watson and Hooper.

"You do, actually," Watson told him slowly, shifting beneath Holmes's sharp gaze, "Quite a lot," he nodded.

Amelia smiled faintly before clearing her throat, "Please, Doctor Hooper," she gestured for Hooper to continue.

Hooper nodded to her, looking down at the body, "First of all, this is definitely Emelia Ricoletti," he said as they listened intently, Watson frowning while Amelia eyed the body more closely, "She has been categorically identified. Beyond a doubt it is her".

"Then who was that in Limehouse last night?" Watson asked, his frown deepening even more as he looked at Hooper, Holmes pulling a small magnifying glass out of his pocket and leaning down to examine the body's exposed face.

"That was also Emelia Ricoletti".

"And yet that is impossible," Amelia shook her head, eyeing the body still, "At the time of Mr Ricoletti's death, Mrs Ricoletti was well and truly dead," she looked back across to Hooper, "It is physically impossible for this woman to have murdered her husband".

"She was positively identified by her own husband seconds before he died," Hooper reminded her, while Amelia could only frown at the body, simply not seeing how it could be possible, "He had no reason to lie," he went on, glancing at Lestrade and Watson, "He could hardly be mistaken".

"The cabbie knew her too," Lestrade added, shaking his head, "There's no question it's her".

Watson looked back across to Amelia and Holmes, looking thoughtful and very confused, "But she can't have been in two places at the same time, can she?"

"No, Watson," Holmes agreed, straightening from where he had been busy still examining the bride's face, "One place is strictly the limit for the recently deceased".

He suddenly clicked his fingers and pointed at both detectives, his eyes widening in realisation, "Could it have been twins?" he asked quickly.

"No".

"Highly doubtful," Amelia shook her head dismissively. She tried hard not to picture her brother at the mention of twins, even after all these years and after everything that James had done, she still felt a sense of loss and sadness thinking of her brother, but she had more important concerns now, such as her family and her work. The ghosts of her past held little power over her life now.

Watson blinked, looking slightly confused, still pointing, "Why not?"

"Because it's never twins," Holmes rolled his eyes at the mere suggestion.

"Well…" Amelia paused, considering it, "Almost never," Holmes and Watson both looked at her curiously, making her shrug very slightly, Watson finally lowering his arm, "You never knew that my brother was a criminal, did you? Of course, it hardly counts since I never did keep the fact that I had a twin a secret".

Lestrade cleared his throat, drawing their attention back over to him, "Emelia was not a twin, nor did she have any sisters," he informed them, and Watson slowly nodded, looking determined again, "She had one brother who died four years ago".

Watson hummed lightly, shaking his head, still seeming quite determined that his idea should be considered more seriously, "Maybe it was a secret twin," he suggested, looking back to Holmes and Amelia.

Amelia actually blinked, while Holmes slowly turned his head towards him, disbelief written across his face, "A what?" he demanded, looking positively stunned that Watson could be seriously suggesting something so absurd as a 'secret twin'.

"A secret twin?" he repeated, speaking very carefully, so that there could be no mistake of what he had said, apparently not realising just how insane he was sounding right now.

Holmes stared at him, actually seeming speechless as he slowly looked at Amelia, as though to check that she had heard the same thing that he had. Amelia could only shake her head in exasperation and reach up to rub her forehead. And to think, right now she could have been at Baker Street, spending time with her children rather than listening to this nonsense.

"Watson," she began after a moment, her voice sounding slightly strained, struggling not to call him a complete idiot, like she truly felt like doing right now. Instead, she took a deep breath and lowered her hand from her head, forcing a gentle smile onto her lips, "There's no such thing as a 'secret twin'".

"Yes, there is," he insisted at once, nodding firmly. Amelia didn't even bother to hold back her groan of exasperation, wondering how Watson managed to become a doctor if this is his idea of solving the case, "You know?" he continued, looking between both detectives, "A twin that nobody knows about? This whole thing could have been planned".

"Since the moment of conception?" Holmes stared at him with wide, stunned eyes, "How breathtakingly prescient of her! It is never twins, Watson," he finished sharply, frowning.

Amelia shook her head, eyeing him as though she was worried for Watson's mental stability, "What medical school did you attend again, Watson?" she asked, "I do hope it wasn't terribly expensive…"

Watson huffed, giving Amelia an annoyed look, "Then what's your theory?" he demanded, apparently quite upset, throwing Amelia another look, "Since you are apparently so cleaver, Mrs Holmes…"

She lifted her chin higher, more than ready to rise to the challenge, when Holmes cut across her, "More to the point…" he turned to Lestrade, frowning at him, "What's your problem?"

Lestrade blinked and looked up to him, having been staring at the body. He looked at him blankly for a moment, before shaking his head, "I…I don't understand," he started in confusion, "What…?"

"Why were you so frightened? Nothing so far has justified your assault on my decanter, and why have you allowed a dead woman to be placed under arrest?"

"Ah," Hooper said suddenly, making them all turn towards him, still standing beside Watson on the other side of the table, "That would be the other feature of interest," he picked up the bride's right hand and held it up for them to see the index finger, which seemed to have a smear of blood on it, Holmes, Watson, and Amelia leaning closer to get a better look.

"A smear of blood on her finger," Watson said quietly, eyeing it as he straightened, "That could have happened any number of ways".

"Indeed," Hooper agreed, lowering the hand back down onto the table, focusing on Holmes and Amelia, his expression growing stern, "There's one other thing. It wasn't there earlier".

Amelia frowned, exchanging a quick look with Holmes, Amelia suddenly feeling a chill run down her spine. Of course, she didn't suddenly believe in the notion that someone could rise from the dead, but this whole case was certainly a puzzle with a truly creepy, morbid flair to it.

"And neither was that," Lestrade told them, pointing over towards a darkened wall on the left side of the room, behind them.

Holmes and Amelia moved to follow after him as he began to walk over towards the wall, intrigued to see what he was speaking off. He picked up a lit lantern sitting on a table pushed up against the wall and backed back a couple of steps, holding the lantern up so that the beam of light lit up the wall, the word 'YOU' scrawled across the white washed wall in dripping blood for them to see.

"Holmes," Watson breathed, a hint of fear colouring his tone, staring at the word with wide eyes.

"Gun in the mouth," Holmes said softly, eyeing the word, "A bullet through the brain, back of the head blown clean off," he frowned, his eyes distant, not really seeing the wall, "How could he survive?"

Amelia blinked in confusion, dragging her eyes off the word to look at her husband, concern washing over her as Watson seemed quite startled himself, "Holmes, you mean 'she,' yes?" she asked him, reaching out to lightly touch his arm.

"I'm sorry?" he questioned, his gaze still fixed on the wall.

"You said 'he' rather than 'she,'" she eyed him in increasing alarm, finding it very odd for him to make such a mistake, "Are you quite alright?"

"Yes," he nodded absently, "Yes, of course," he continued to stare at the wall, still seeming lost in his thoughts as Amelia looked worriedly back to Watson, finding him frowning in confusion, too. Suddenly, he jolted and blinked rapidly, making Amelia actually flitch at the sudden movement, "Well, thank you all for a fascinating case," he looked around the morgue, smiling very slightly before focusing on Lestrade, "I'll send you a telegram when I've solved it. Watson, Amelia?" he gave Watson and Amelia a quick glance, before turning and heading over to the door, disappearing outside, Lestrade trailing behind him.

Amelia watched him go in concern, wondering what on Earth had gotten to him lately, making all of those funny little comments that made no sense to what was going on, but she didn't move to follow him, nor did Watson, who instead turned back towards Hooper.

"Er, the gunshot wound was obviously the cause of death," he told him quickly, looking back down at the body, "But there are clear indicators of consumption. Might be worth a post mortem," he looked back up to Hooper, who was eyeing him with narrowed eyes, "We need all the information we can get".

He began to move towards the door, when Hooper said, "Oh, isn't he observant when Daddy's gone?" his tone scathing, smirking as Watson stopped and turned back around to face him.

Amelia sighed, looking warily between them both, "I really don't think that was needed, Hooper," she muttered sternly. Usually, she liked to try and avoid either Watson or Holmes remaining in the same room as Hooper for longer than truly needed out of concern that one of them may catch on to the truth, it was something that Hooper was usually quite pleased to do too, but not this time, apparently.

Watson cast Amelia a quick look and her worry increased, seeing a knowing glint in his eyes as he slowly walked closer to the table, looking back to Hooper, "I am observant in some ways," he said quietly, looking Hooper up and down pointedly, "Just as Holmes is quite blind in others".

"Really?" Hooper said sarcastically, not seeming to notice that Anderson and a second man had stopped mopping the floors, obviously listening in to the conversation.

"Yes," he nodded, more firmly, "Really".

"Watson," Amelia said sharply, her eyes frantically moving between both of her friends, feeling her stomach drop as she realised that he knew. She edged closer to the table, lowering her voice to a whisper, "Don't do this, not here," she shot Anderson and the second man a hurried look, wishing they would just go away.

Watson, however, didn't seem to listen, no doubt still quite upset by Hooper's little remark, "Amazing what one has to do to get ahead in a man's world," he stared at Hooper pointedly, before reaching up to doff his hat at him and sitting it back onto his head, catching Amelia's eye briefly before turning and walking towards the door.

Amelia swallowed and looked quickly back to Hooper, who had frozen in place, looking quite horrified that Watson had seen through his, her, disguise, "I'll speak with him," she assured 'him' in a whisper as Hooper gave her a stiff nod, before quickly turning in a flurry of skirts to dash after Watson. She quickly caught up to Watson, not caring about being proper as she reached out to grab the sleeve of his coat, stopping him just before the stairs. He glanced down at her hand in surprise before looking up to her face, "How long have you known?" she asked, her voice low still, knowing how these hallways could echo.

"Since our first meeting with Doctor Hooper," he replied, and Amelia sighed and released his sleeve, nodding grimly. He watched her keenly, "Holmes has no idea, does he?"

"Of course not. My husband may have a brilliant mind, but deduction reasoning is not a perfect science, Watson, it can be manipulated to suit one's own needs, if you know how to do it".

"And you do, of course?"

"Obviously," she struggled not to roll her eyes, knowing well enough that Watson, even after all these years, still struggled to believe that she could truly be as intelligent as any man, "If one understands how to deduce, then it is expected that they also know how to manipulate those deductions. Molly Hooper is quite different from her persona and any resemblance between them could easily be reasoned away with the story of them being siblings. It also helps matters that Holmes does dislike Hooper so".

"Intentionally on Miss Hooper's part, I would imagine".

"Indeed," Amelia nodded, giving him a careful, calculating look, "I would ask that you do not speak of this matter to anyone else, Watson, Miss Hooper has made many sacrifices to live this life and as her friend I will not allow it all to be in vain".

Watson raised his eyebrows at her, "And you are perfectly comfortable lying to your own husband?"

"All wives's lie about something, it would be terribly naïve of you to think otherwise, especially as a married man. The fact of the matter is that it is not my secret to tell, Miss Hooper has asked for my discretion and I will not reveal her secrets to anyone, not even my own husband".

He stared at her for a long moment, the lighting from the gas lamps along the walls playing shadows across his face, making it difficult to properly see his expression, "I have no intention of revealing Miss Hooper's secrets," he eventually replied, and Amelia inwardly sighed in relief, "I do, however, disagree with you notion that wives keep secrets from their husbands. Mary and I have no secrets," he said proudly, smiling very faint.

"Oh, Watson," she shook her head, fondness and amusement lacing her words, "You truly have no idea".

And with that, she lightly brushed passed him and began to make her way upstairs, one hand carefully lifting her skirts just above her shoes, leaving Watson to blink in puzzlement at her words.

….

Soon enough, Amelia found herself once again sitting in the back of her couch beside Holmes, Watson sitting across from them, a light frown still written across his features as he peered outside the darkened, wet window as they made their way back to Baker Street. After silence stretched on between the three with nothing but the light clinking of the horses hooves against the cobble stone road, Watson pulled his gaze off the rain washed window to look across the darkened cabin to them.

"Well?" he asked them, Holmes reaching up to take his pipe out of his mouth, his expression thoughtful, "Surely you must have some theory".

"Not yet," Holmes said quietly, his eyes distant, "These are deep waters, Watson. Deep waters," he slowly looked outside his window, while Amelia and Watson watched him, "And I shall have to go deeper still".

Amelia frowned, her expression filling with concern, "Just not to deeply, my love," she said softly, reaching out to place her hand on his.

A little short, I know, but I felt like it flowed nicer if I ended it here before moving on to the next section of the story. Completely off topic, who else watched the Royal wedding? I really enjoyed it, some of those speeches…well, if you watched it, I think you'll know which one cracked me up the most. Oh, and playing find the celebrity amongst the crowd was fun, every time they moved the camera around the church I spotted someone I recognised, I positively adored some of the outfits on display and the bride's veil was simply beautiful.

Anyway, back onto the story, next time: tea parties, apparently Victorian Amelia enjoys teasing Holmes as much as her modern counterpart, and Watson really needs to watch what he's saying around Amelia. I hope you liked the chapter, tell me what you thought. Please review :)

Guest reviews:

Waterlily91: Aww, I'm so happy you like the kids; we'll be seeing a bit more of them soon. Oh, I know, it's so odd to write Watson like that, with this layer of condescending attitude to him, and it feels so odd to write him and Amelia with this sort of distance between them because I'm so used to writing them as being close, but nope. It's quite formal between them, Mrs Holmes for Amelia and Watson for John. I hope you liked the chapter, thanks for the review :)

LadyRedStar: I'm so pleased to hear that you enjoyed the previous chapter, it was so much fun to write. I've been waiting ages to get up to this episode. Ah, yes, the twins, I kind of see them as being a mix of Amelia and Holmes, only with swapped genders, I almost feel bad for having written them, only for them to not even be real. I love Mrs Hudson, she's so unassuming and then bang! She's got a sports car tucked away somewhere, I wonder if even Victorian Mrs Hudson has some sort of super fast carriage stashed somewhere…

Thanks for the review :)