The Empty Hearse, Part 3

A loud, annoying buzzing noise was going off, waking Amelia from the nice dream that she been having that involved investigating a case in the middle of a Prada shop. Blindly, with her eyes squinted against the bright sunlight that was streaming in through the gaps of the dark curtains, she reached over to switch off the alarm that she had forgotten to change the night before, having been so tired that she had completely forgotten that her phone was still set to go off at seven o'clock on a week day. With the noise gone, she finally opened her eyes and very nearly had a heart attack.

She was in Sherlock's bedroom, more than that, she actually sleeping in his bed. It took her a second for her brain to catch up with her before she remembered that she had actually agreed to sleep there the night before, but it was still slightly startling for her. She recalled now how she had completely stripped the bed and found new, fresh sheets for it before climbing beneath the covers the night before, the old sheets having been covered in a thick layer of dust, just as everything else in the flat seemed to be. Still, even though the room hadn't been used for two years, it still held Sherlock's scent in the air, like old books and, strangely, gunpowder. She tried very hard to not think about how the room could have earned such an unusual smell as gunpowder, she really wasn't sure if she wanted to know the details.

She sat up and yawned loudly, her eyes roaming around the darkened room before coming to rest on the empty space beside her, on the right side of the bed. She didn't remember being disturbed or hearing anything during the night, but Sherlock had clearly slept there the night before. The covers on that side of the bed had been pulled back and the pillows had been slightly flattened with a clear indent of where his head had rested. She desperately hoped she hadn't done anything embarrassing while she slept, like drooling or trying to cuddle into him, as she had been known to do in the past.

She gave herself a shake and leant over to the bedside table on her side of the bed, grabbing her phone and tapping in the password to unlock it. She had replaced her old Blackberry with an iPhone after she had gone into hiding and while on a teacher's wage she might not have been able to get the most recent version, she did have to wonder why she hadn't gotten rid of her old phone long before her fake death. She absently checked the news headlines, only for her eyes to widen. It was official, the news had gotten out about her and Sherlock being alive and back in London, with Twitter going crazy with people talking about their return and speculations flying. She supposed it probably wasn't that surprising that the news had leaked what with John's shouting about it the night before, but she was slightly disappointed that it had gotten out so soon. She wasn't looking forward to dealing with the press asking questions and she was rather grateful that most of the people who had her number right now were all still under the belief that she was Jessica Holmes, though, for how much longer she didn't know.

She sighed and locked her phone, placing it back onto the table as she pushed the covers off herself and climbed out of bed. The early morning air hit her bare legs, making her shiver slighter as she walked around the bed to the door and made her way out of the room, heading for the living room. She soon found Sherlock standing on top of the couch cushions, busy sticking a large map on the wall above the sofa, along with photos of several different people and little notes. He was already dressed with his red dressing gown over his clothing, apparently having been up for some time, judging by the amount of stuff he had already pinned to the wall, one hand holding his phone as it dinged, singling a message. Amelia leant against the kitchen door, watching curiously.

"Morning, Holmes," she greeted him after a moment when he made no indication that he even knew that she was there, "Getting a head start on the case?"

"London is in danger, Amelia," he replied, not looking at her, his attention still on his task, "Not everyone can spend all day sleeping".

"It's seven in the morning, not two in the afternoon".

"Is it?" he asked ideally, clearly not very interested.

Amelia shook her head, crossing her left foot behind her right ankle, "Out of curiosity, exactly how much sleep did you get last night?"

"Three, four hours. What does it matter?" his tone grew slightly irritated.

"Humans need more sleep then that, you're only doing yourself a disservice by not getting a good night's sleep".

"Sleeping's boring".

"But also very important for higher thought processing, such as the cognitive abilities that we both use throughout cases," she paused, actually blinking slightly at herself, "God, I really need a coffee after that. Or maybe a shower".

"Mycroft will be here soon," Sherlock informed her, glancing back to her briefly.

"Shower it is, then," she remarked, mentally grimacing at how she probably looked right now with her hair a mess and all over the place, no makeup, and still wearing the shirtdress from the night before, though it was now very wrinkled and she highly doubted if even her favourite drycleaner was going to be able to get the small little specks of blood off it now. She had been tempted to borrow one of Sherlock's shirts, but she felt that was probably a step to far after he had given her his bed.

As if reading her thoughts, Sherlock released a loud sigh and turned around to face her, still standing on the sofa cushions, "One of Mycroft's people dropped off some fresh clothing for you," he told her, making her blink in surprise, "It's in the bathroom".

Amelia broke into a broad smile, feeling quite excited to know just what lovely outfit she had waiting for her. Not for the first time did she realise that she really did have an obsession with clothing, but she supposed it was a lot better addiction to have then drugs or blowing things up. She turned to leave for the bathroom just down the hallway, when she paused and looked back to Sherlock, "How are you today?" she asked, mildly concerned. His lip looked slightly swollen, but he had luckily managed to avoid getting a black eye after getting punched in the nose.

He looked back to her, frustration and annoyance clearly written across his face, "Amelia, I am trying to work, something I can't do with you constantly asking me questions," he said sharply.

She narrowed her eyes, feeling slightly hurt by his tone and words, but she didn't want to let him see that, "Fine," she said flatly, her tone cold, "I'll just express my concern for you when you're…oh, I don't know, lying in a puddle of your own blood or in a hospital bed," she raised her eyebrows mockingly at him, crossing her arms across her chest, "Would that be better?" she didn't wait for him to respond as she turned on her heel and began marching off.

She was well aware that he was trying to work, she wasn't an idiot, but she also couldn't help the fact that she was concerned about him. His chest was covered in bruises and he had been hit several times only the night before, not to mention throttled, so of course she was worried about him. He was her friend…well, he was more than that to her and she needed to ask. What type of friend would she be if she didn't? It wasn't as if he was going to just simply tell her, plus, they were working on a very important case, they both needed to be as fit as possible and if he needed something, even something like a painkiller, then she would be more than happy to try and help.

"Amelia," Sherlock called after her, and she backtracked slightly, looking back to him with an indifferent look. He sighed, looking slightly uncomfortable, "I…apologise," he said after a moment, surprising her, "I'm appreciative of your concern".

Amelia raised her eyebrows, rather impressed by this new side of Sherlock, a side that actually proved that he was capable of recognising when he had crossed a line and hurt her feelings, "That must have been painful," she commented, keeping her face carefully blank, "I'm not an idiot, Sherlock, so I would be really grateful if you didn't treat me like one and get so snappy with me when I am only expressing concern for your wellbeing. But…" she allowed a small smile to cross her face, her tone growing slightly warmer as she continued, "Thank you for apologising. I'll leave you to it".

And with that, she turned and left the room, heading for the bathroom. She had to admit that she was rather surprised that he had actually apologised, two years ago she doubted if he would have even noticed that he had hurt her feelings. Perhaps the last two years of being away had helped to humanise him slightly, either way, she preferred this slightly more self-aware version.

…

The shower was exactly what Amelia had wanted, she immediately felt wide awake the moment the hot water had hit her face. After she had showered and dried herself, she used her hair tie from the night before to pull her hair back into a ponytail just like she had the day before. She had been rather impressed by the clothing that Mycroft had sent over, it had even included a full makeup kit and a few pieces of jewellery to choose from, all of which that she recognised as being hers from two years ago, just as the clothing was. She did her makeup first, using her favourite shade of red lipstick and gold eye shadow with eyeliner.

She had been slightly amused by the outfit, finding it to be rather perfect considering it was her first case with Sherlock after two years. The outfit was a pair of pink platform heeled Mary Jane's, a matching pink mini skirt with a pleated detailing, a black singlet that she had tucked into the skirt, and a pink blazer. Her handbag was, of course, pink and the jewellery was a pair of gold studs in the shape of bows, and a doubled strand gold necklace with amethyst stones. It might have been a little morbid that she was wearing so much pink when their first case together had a victim that died wearing the same shade, but she couldn't help appreciating the dark humour of it.

With a satisfied nod at her reflection, she left the bathroom and walked down the hallway to the kitchen. She paused, considering whether or not she should make herself some toast and tea, but decided against it. Knowing Mrs Hudson, she would be up there soon enough with a tray. She continued on through into the living room and found that Mycroft had arrived while she had been getting dressed. He was sitting in John's old chair, his back facing her while Sherlock had since moved to his own chair across from him. The two of them seemed to be playing chess, or at least that's what it appeared like from the angle she was standing on, it was only when she began to make her away further into the room and over towards them that she realised that she was wrong. So very wrong. It wasn't chess; it was the board game Operation. She almost broke into a fit of giggles at the sight of two grown men playing a child's game.

"You should be careful, Amelia," Sherlock remarked, glancing up to her, his eyes quickly running over her outfit, "The last woman who wore that much pink ended up murdered".

"Lovely to know that you care, Holmes," Amelia flashed him a slightly sarcastic smile. She shook her head and moved to perch on the armrest of his chair, sitting her handbag down on the floor by it, "Besides, murder?" she raised an eyebrow, smirking slightly, "Been there, done that. Good morning, Mycroft," she turned her attention across to the older Holmes's brother.

"Did you sleep well, Amelia?" Mycroft asked pleasantly, though it was never so simple with him, and she knew immediately what was coming, "My brother's mattress would be less soft then you prefer, I would imagine".

"It was perfectly comfortable, thank you," she replied, a hint of warning her tone. She really didn't want to be dealing with Mycroft's knowing looks and sly comments that all alluded to one thing: her relationship with Sherlock. She cleared her throat and glanced over to the wall above the sofa, noticing that since earlier that morning, Sherlock had crossed out several of the people featured in the photographs that he had pinned to the wall in black marker, "Sherlock, mind explaining your presentation to the class?" she glanced at him, really not entirely sure just who those people were even meant to be.

Sherlock looked back over to his wall, "London," he began, "It's like a great cesspool into which all kinds of criminals, agents, and drifters are irresistible drained…"

"Charming description, Holmes," Amelia remarked, wrinkling her nose in mild disgust.

"Sometimes it's not a question of 'who?'" he continued as if she hadn't spoken, "It's a question of 'who knows?' If this man cancels his papers…" he pointed over to a picture of a bold man about to climb into a car, completely oblivious to the fact that he was being photographed, "I need to know".

"Oh, I see," the brunet nodded slowly, realising that the pictures had all been sent to him by his homeless network.

He pointed across to a second picture, this time of a young woman walking her dog through what appeared to be a small street market, "If this woman leaves London without putting her dog into kennels, I need to know," he went on, focusing back onto Amelia and Mycroft, "There are certain people, they are markers. If they start to move, I'll know something's up, like rats deserting a sinking ship".

"Cleaver," Amelia said, eyeing the map and pictures with more interest now. There were a few more pictures to it then there had been she first saw it, and he had also crossed out several places on the map of London, obviously ruling those places out as areas of where the attack would take place. She would have to examine it more closely later, now that she actually understood what it was.

"All very interesting, Sherlock," Mycroft sighed tiredly, "But the terror alert has been raised to Critical".

Sherlock leant forward and, without taking his eyes off his brother, made his move on the board game on the table between them, "Boring," he sat back slightly, speaking almost in a sing-song voice, "Your move".

He frowned at him, "We have solid information, an attack is coming," he glanced down at the board, leaning forward slightly to take his turn.

"Well, obviously there will be an attack, if we're dealing with a terrorist organisation," Amelia said lightly, shrugging as she absently smoothed a hand down her skirt, "That's what they do to breed fear and cause panic. Knowing an attack is coming is one piece of the puzzle, a good starting platform but still useless information on its own. We still need to work out who is behind it and where it will take place".

Mycroft looked at her coldly, making her raise an eyebrow, "An agent gave his life to tell us that," he told her, almost glaring.

"Oh, well, perhaps he shouldn't have done," Sherlock commented, shrugging faintly, his tone just as light as Amelia's had been, "He was obviously just trying to show off".

"Sherlock, honestly," Amelia sighed, shaking her in mild exasperation. She turned back to Mycroft, who looked like he was struggling not to sigh himself, "We both understand the importance of this case, Mycroft," she tried to reassure him, knowing that it probably didn't sound like they were taking it as seriously as it was what with her statement about the information being rather lacking and Sherlock's little unhelpful remarks. She meet his eyes, hoping that she was stressing just how important it was to them, "And we are investigating every angle and channel that we can, as fast as we can, so just give us time and let us do our job. We can't work miracles over night with nothing to go on".

He closed his eye briefly before opening them again, sighing heavily, "None of those markers of yours is behaving in any way suspiciously?" he asked, looking between the two, though Amelia really couldn't be of much help in that department right now. His eyes flickered down to the board as he made his move, before focusing his attention back onto Sherlock, "Your move".

"No, Mycroft, but you have to trust me," Sherlock replied, looking slightly annoyed after his brother managed to avoid setting off the games buzzer. Amelia was still feeling the urge to laugh, it really was quite sweet to see the Holmes boys playing a game together, "I'll find the answer," he continued, "It'll be in an odd phrase in an online blog, or an unexpected trip to the countryside, or a misplaced Lonely Hearts ad," he glanced quickly down at the board as he made his move, dropping the plastic organ onto the table with a small clatter. He looked back to his brother, smiling very slightly, "Your move".

"You just have to have faith that we know what we're doing," Amelia said, smirking slowly at him, "As hard as that might be for you to do".

Mycroft cast his eyes down at the board and back up to Sherlock and Amelia, his expression deadly serious, "I've given the Prime Minister my personal assurance you're both on the case," he informed them, looking between them.

"Amelia and I are on the case," Sherlock frowned slightly, nodding to Amelia beside him, "Look at us right now".

"There's really not much that we can do right now," the brunet sighed, throwing a quick look over towards the wall and the pictures covering it, "We just have to wait until one of our marks makes a suspicious move, until then, we really have nothing to work with".

A loud, horrible buzzing noise sounded throughout the room and a red light flashed on the board game, just as Mycroft was taking his turn, "Oh, bugger!" he exclaimed, and angrily dropped the small toy tweezers attached to the side of the board as he accidently hit the side of the space.

"Oh, well done," Amelia laughed, clapping her hands mockingly. Operation was her top board game; no one beat her in that game, not even John with his steady doctor hands could win against her when they had spent an evening playing. Sadly, Monopoly and poker were a completely different story, and both Sherlock and John had practically mopped the floor with her after they had played those games.

"Oopsie!" Sherlock smirked at his brother, seeming to be having a great time watching his brother glare at the game as he put the plastic game piece back into its space, "Can't handle a broken heart," he remarked sarcastically as he looked at the miniature toy heart, "How very telling," he leaned back into his chair, looking rather smug as he exchanged an amused look with Amelia.

"Don't be smart," Mycroft shot them both a dark look.

He sighed, looking away from him, "That takes me back," he said, raising his eyebrows in a haughty expression and putting on a little boy's voice, "'Don't be smart, Sherlock. I'm the smart one"'.

"I am the smart one," he glared at his little brother.

"You two must have been the most difficult kids, even more so then my brother and I," Amelia laughed, shaking her head as she leaned forward and, without waiting, picked up the toy tweezers and carefully used them to pick up the heart without even coming close to touching the sides. Mycroft narrowed his eyes at her, looking almost sulky while Sherlock smirked at him, looking quite smug again, "The fighting alone must have been completely mental," she went on, pretending as if she hadn't noticed anything as she sat back again, her lower arm lightly brushing against Sherlock's shoulder. She glanced at Sherlock, her eyes lingering on his hair, "But those curls must have looked simply adorable of little Sherlock".

"Oh, for God's sake…" Mycroft muttered, falling back into his chair with a look of disgust on his face.

She smiled, shrugging, not the slightest bit embarrassed as she glanced at Mycroft, "What? I'm sure little Sherlock in his pirate hat and wellies, running about, was adorable".

Sherlock looked rather shocked, not seeming to quite know how to respond, before he frowned at her, "How do you know about the pirate hat?" he asked, throwing Mycroft a suspicious look.

"John told me that you wanted to be a pirate as a kid years ago," she replied, smiling faintly. She had laughed when she had first found out; she had wanted to be a horse trainer as a little girl. How far they had both come, "Every kid makes a pirate hat at one point or another, you would have definitely made one and played outside".

"Hmm," he hummed, his eyes narrowed and resting on Mycroft, "I wonder where John learnt about that," he said sarcastically. It was just a tad embarrassing. He sighed and pulled his eyes away, looking thoughtful, "I used to think I was an idiot," he commented, thinking about his childhood.

Amelia blinked, her smile slipping completely off her face, "That's awful," she said quietly, staring at him in a completely new light. It was horrible to think of a little boy believing himself to be an idiot, no child should think that way about themselves, they should be having fun, not worried about something like that.

"Both of us thought you were an idiot, Sherlock," Mycroft said with a shrug, settling himself more comfortably into his chair, "We had nothing else to go on, until we met other children".

"Oh, yes," Sherlock nodded, looking back to them, "That was a mistake".

"Ghastly. What were they thinking of?"

"Probably something about trying to make friends".

"Oh, yes. Friends," Mycroft practically sneered the word, raising his eyebrows mockingly at his little brother, "Of course, you go in for that sort of thing now," he looked pointedly to Amelia, who gave him a little smile.

Sherlock eyed him closely, "And you don't?" he narrowed his eyes very slightly, "Ever?"

"If you and Amelia…"

"Hey!" Amelia exclaimed, crossing her arms across her chest as she glared at Mycroft, "Leave me out of this, please".

"…seem slow to me, Sherlock," Mycroft continued, hardly seeming to have even heard her, "Can you imagine what real people are like? I'm living in a world of goldfish".

Sherlock pressed his finger tips together beneath his chin, still eyeing his brother, "Yes, but I've been away for two years".

"So?"

"Oh, I don't know. I thought perhaps you might have found yourself a…goldfish".

Mycroft looked appalled by the mere suggestion, much to Amelia's amusement, "Change the subject, now," he glared, climbing onto his feet and stepping over to stand by the fireplace.

Amelia laughed, unable to help herself, "I do so like to watch your brother squirm," she said to Sherlock, watching Mycroft.

Sherlock smirked at that, looking rather pleased with himself, "Rest assured, Mycroft, whatever this underground network of yours is up to, the secret will reside in something seemingly insignificant or bizarre," he said, growing serious.

"Ooh-ooh!" Mrs Hudson called cheerfully as she walked into the room, carrying a tray with tea cups sitting on it, drawing their attention to her.

"Speaking of which…" Mycroft muttered to Sherlock and Amelia, making his brother smile. Amelia shook her head at them, lightly nudging her elbow against Sherlock's arm with a stern look.

Mrs Hudson placed the tray down on the dining table, looking back over to them, "I can't believe it," she smiled, looking delighted as her eyes rested on Amelia and Sherlock, "I just can't believe it!" she shook her head as Amelia smiled at her, feeling quite touched by how emotional she seemed, "Them two, sitting there again!" she looked over to Mycroft, her smile widening, "Oh, isn't it wonderful, Mr Holmes?"

"I can barely contain myself," he said sarcastically, rolling his eyes.

"Oh, he really can, you know," Sherlock added, casting his brother a quick look.

"He's secretly pleased to see you both underneath all that…" Mrs Hudson scrunched up her nose and mouth, tossing her head back as she began to head over towards the kitchen doors. Amelia laughed.

"Sorry, which of us?" Mycroft frowned, watching the older woman go.

She paused, smiling at them, "Both of you," she replied, before continuing on her way through to the kitchen.

Amelia looked back to Mycroft and Sherlock, "She's right," she remarked, watching the way that neither brother seemed to be able to deny it, not something that you ever saw very often with those two in the same room, "The Holmes boys reunited," she laughed, shaking her head, "You know, if you two weren't so hell-bent on pretending not to like each other, you would make quite a team".

Mycroft grimaced very slightly, glancing at her, "I think I'll leave the teamwork to you two," he told her, giving her an irritatingly knowing look, "You already do it so well, as it is".

Sherlock cleared his throat loudly, just as Amelia narrowed her eyes at his brother, "Let's play something different," he said suddenly, clapping his hands.

He sighed heavily, exasperated, "Why are we playing games?"

"Well, London's terror alert has been raised to Critical," he shrugged, uncrossing his legs with a flourish and rising to his feet, "I'm just passing the time".

"Believe me," Amelia cut in, giving Mycroft a pointed look, "There are worst ways that we could be trying to distract ourselves. Shooting at walls springs to mind," she threw the wall above the sofa a look, the bullet holes still noticeable in the wallpaper.

"Let's do deductions," Sherlock said, almost sounding cheerful. He brushed past Amelia as she remained perched on the armrest and strolled over to the dining table, picking up a woollen hat with earflaps that had pom-poms attached to the flaps with a twisted cord of wool. He turned back to his brother and Amelia, the brunet looking at the hat curiously, "Client left this while we were out. What d'you reckon?" he tossed the hat across the room.

Mycroft easily caught it, barely even glancing down at it as the pom-poms flew around, "I'm busy".

Amelia smiled very slightly, looking forward to seeing how this would unfold, "Oh, don't be a spoilsport," she rolled her eyes at him, "You're hardly so busy that you can't possibly play one simple game with your baby brother, Mycroft".

"Oh, go on, it's been an age," Sherlock agreed, smirking at him.

Mycroft lifted the hat up to his nose, sniffing it before quickly glancing back over to Sherlock, "I always win," he warned him.

"Which is why you can't resist".

"I find nothing irresistible in the hat of a well travelled, anxious, sentimental, unfit creature of habit with appalling halitosis…" he stopped talking suddenly, blinking very slightly as he finally noticed Sherlock and Amelia's widening smiles, "Damn," he sighed, tossing it back to Sherlock.

"You're so easy, Mycroft," Amelia grinned at him, shaking her head. She couldn't help wondering if she was getting a rare peek into what these two must have been like as kids, the little games that they would play and the constant attempts to outsmart each other. She couldn't help feeling slightly envious because, even though they did fight and might not always get along, she knew for a fact that the Holmes brother's did care very deeply for each other and were far closer then they perhaps would like to admit.

She had never had that closeness with James, never really got the chance to feel what it would be like to have a brother, not even a relationship like the Holmes boys did. Of course they had been rare moments when it had felt close to what she imagined it would be like, she could recall playing outside in the garden of their home together, though it usually always ended in her crying because James had hurt her. When they had been little, neither one of them had really anyone else to play with. They had grown up living just on the outskirts of a little Irish village and before they had gone to school, they had spent most of their time there, save for summer when they would leave for her Mother's family home in France. Growing up in the village had been hard for them both, James wasn't very well liked by the other children in the village, tending to enjoy scaring them or playing rough, while Amelia had been outcast because she was different. She had been quiet, preferring to sit on the outskirts and watch, which often left her alone, never quite knowing how to try to engage with the other children when she had always felt so different from them, almost like she was an outsider or an alien. Going to school had helped her to learn that she was different, but it had also taught her the value of keeping those differences to herself in order to fit in, but, if anything, starting school had only made her relationship with James grow even more distant. They hadn't needed each other anymore to keep each other company and that allowed James even more freedom to be mean to her without fearing scaring her off. From that point onwards, she had known that she would never really get to have a brother, not really.

Sherlock caught the hat, glancing down at it, "Isolated, too, don't you think?" he commented to his brother, pulling Amelia from her thoughts.

"Why would he be isolated?" Mycroft asked with a small frown.

"'He?'" Sherlock repeated, his head snapping back up to him.

"Obviously".

"Why? Size of the hat?"

"No, that data is to general," Amelia cut in, making them both look at her. She eyed the hat quickly, picking up as much information from it as she could without actually handling it herself, "Head size is hardly an indication of gender, that sort of information is better suited for determining if it belongs to a child or adult," she held out a hand to Sherlock, who handed her the hat, seeming to be curious to hear what she had to say. She turned the hat over in her fingers, allowing the slightly prickly woollen fabric to pass over her skin, "No, women can have large heads, just as men can have small ones. There's also the hair that you need to consider, though that is also still rather general," she handed the hat back to Sherlock, seeing all that she needed to.

"Ah, yes, the hair," Mycroft nodded, looking over to the hat in Sherlock's hands, "He's recently had it cut. You can see the little hairs adhering to the perspiration stains on the inside".

Sherlock pouted very slightly, glancing at the inside of the hat, "Some women have short hair, too".

"I've even considered cutting my hair into a pixie cut," Amelia remarked, reaching up to toy with the end of her ponytail, "It's become quite fashionable lately".

"Don't," Sherlock told her, casting her a quick, calculating look, "You don't have the right bone structure or personality for it to work. Long hair suits you better".

She smiled very slightly, glancing up to him, "I had no idea you even noticed something as trivial as my looks, Holmes," she said slyly, unable to help herself.

Mycroft cleared his throat, looking away from the nauseating scene of his brother and Amelia, who was so obviously flirting as they locked gazes, neither one of them saying a word. He much rather preferred it when the two of them bickered like children to this…sentimental nonsense that his brother had apparently become inclined to engaging in with Amelia of late, "As I was saying," he said loudly, snapping their attention back to him, "It is a balance of probability that the owner of this hat is male".

Sherlock looked back down to the hat, "Not that you've ever spoken to a woman with short hair," he muttered, loud enough for them to all hear, "Or, you know, a woman".

"Yeah, thanks for that," Amelia rolled her eyes, throwing him a pointed look.

"Stains show he's out of condition," Mycroft continued, ignoring them both, "And he's sentimental because the hat has been repaired three, four…"

"Five times," Sherlock immediately cut him off, throwing the hat back over to him, "Very neatly," he began speaking fast as his brother looked slightly sour that he had been corrected, looking down at the hat in his hands, "The cost of the repairs exceeds the cost of the hat, so he's mawkishly attached to it, but it's more than that," he went on, not slowing down in the slightest, "One, perhaps two, patches would indicate sentimentality, but five?" he raised his eyebrows, shaking his head, "Five's excessive behaviour. Obsessive compulsive".

"God," Amelia breathed, smiling broadly as she looked at Sherlock, "I've missed this".

"Beats being a boring school teacher," he smirked at her, making her struggle to hold back a laugh, feeling as if she ought to scold him for that remark considering the fact that she had actually enjoyed teaching, but nothing really could quite ever match this.

"Hardly obsessive compulsive," Mycroft scoffed, drawing their attention back to him, "Your client left this behind. What sort of an obsessive compulsive would do that?" he threw the hat back to Sherlock, who easily caught it with an exasperated grimace. Clearly this little game wasn't quite going as he had planned it to, "The earlier patches are extensively sun-bleached, so he's worn it abroad, in Peru".

Amelia frowned slightly, glancing at him, "How did you get Peru?" she asked curiously and mildly confused, wondering what she was missing. She knew fabric and different clothing materials almost better then a tailor; it was one of the perks of being so obsessed with fashion.

Mycroft sent her an almost smug look, "This is a chullo," he informed them, sounding completely convinced, "The classic headgear of the Andes. It's made of alpaca".

"No," Sherlock smirked at him.

"Not quite," Amelia smiled very slightly. She must have several jumpers and even a rug or two made out of the alpaca, she would recognise it instantly.

"No?" Mycroft paused, frowning slightly in confusion, looking back and forth between the two.

"Icelandic sheep wool," Sherlock replied, speaking fast again, "Similar, but very distinctive if you know what you're looking for. I've written a blog on the varying tensile strengths of different natural fibres".

"I'm sure there's a crying need for that," Mrs Hudson called as she walked back into the room with a teapot, making her way over to where the tray she had brought in before was still sitting. Amelia laughed, though she did try to stifle it as Sherlock shot her a look.

He turned away from her, focusing back onto his brother, while Mrs Hudson headed into the kitchen, "You said he was anxious," he reminded him, getting back on track.

Mycroft looked back to him, glancing down at the hat, "The bobble on the left side has been badly chewed, which shows he's a man of a nervous disposition but…"

"…but also a creature of habit because he hasn't chewed the bobble on the right," Sherlock spoke over the top of him, eyeing the slightly withered bobble, comparing it to its much better looking twin on the right side.

"Precisely".

Sherlock lifted the hat up to his nose and sniffed it, quickly lowering it again with a disgusted grimace, "Brief sniff of the offending bobble tells us everything we need to know about the state of his breath," he remarked, glancing at Amelia with his eyebrow raised.

Amelia cringed slightly at the thought of how bad it must have smelled, "I'll take your word on it, Holmes," she said lightly.

He shrugged, turning away from them, "Brilliant!" he said sarcastically.

"Elementary," Mycroft commented with a small shrug, smiling slightly at his brother's back.

"But you've missed his isolation," he pointed out, his back facing them.

"I don't see it".

"Plain as day".

"Where?"

"There for all to see".

"Tell me".

"Plain on the nose on your…"

"Tell me".

Sherlock spun around to face him as Amelia smiled, finding watching the two of them interacting together amusing. This was definitely how their childhood had to have been like, "Well," he began, frowning at his brother, "Anybody who wears a hat as stupid as this isn't in the habit of hanging around other people, is he?"

"Not at all," Mycroft shook his head, glancing at the hat, before looking back up to him, "Maybe he just doesn't mind being different. He doesn't necessarily have to be isolated".

"Exactly," he nodded, looking back down to the hat in his hand.

"Very true," Amelia agreed, smiling faintly at Mycroft, catching on to what Sherlock was doing, or rather, implying.

Mycroft blinked, looking quite confused, "I'm sorry?"

Sherlock looked back up to him, "He's different, so what?" he shrugged, "Why would he mind. You're quite right," he didn't take his eyes off his brother as he lifted the hat up to sit on top of his head, not quite fitting over his curls, "Why would anyone mind?"

He stared at him, opening and closing his mouth for a moment, not seeming to be able to even get the words out, "I'm not lonely, Sherlock," he insisted finally, shaking his head.

He took a step closer to him, looking at him closely with a small frown crossing his face, "How would you know?" he said quietly, meeting his eyes for a long moment before turning away from him and slipping the hat off his head. As he moved to put the hat down on the dining table, he caught Amelia's eye and exchanged a very small smile.

Mrs Hudson moved to stand in the kitchen doorway, drying a glass with a red tea towel.

"Yes," Mycroft shook his head, shifting uncomfortably, "Back to work, if you don't mind," he gave Sherlock and Amelia a pointed look, before turning and starting to head over to the landing door, "Good morning".

As he left the room and heading down the stairs, Sherlock looked across to Mrs Hudson and winked, making the older woman laugh as she turned back around to continue with the dishes. Amelia smiled and stood, adjusting her blazer as she did so.

"Well done, Holmes," she flashed him an approving look, "Poor Mycroft, he's probably wondering whether or not bringing us back is really worth all this," she walked over to stand before the wall of information pinned above the sofa, letting her eyes drift over it as she forced herself to grow serious, to get back into the mindset of being a detective.

"I'm sure my big brother can handle it, Amelia," Sherlock said, though he was smirking very slightly as he moved to stand beside her. His eyes settled on the information and the smirk faded, "Right," he grew serious, "Back to work".

Amelia set to work starting to familiarise herself with the information that Sherlock had gathered, removing her blazer and draping it on the sofa as she did so, leaving herself in her singlet. They paused briefly to drink some tea, though neither of them had yet to stop long enough to eat something. Sherlock's phone dinged, singling that he had been sent another photo, and he turned around to show the picture to Amelia. It was of a bearded man walking down a street.

Mrs Hudson stepped into the living room door, watching them work for a moment as Amelia popped the lid off a black marker, drawing a large cross over a picture of the same bearded man, "Sherlock?" she began hastily, not wishing to interrupt, "Amelia?"

"Hmm?" Sherlock hummed distractedly, eyeing the information.

Amelia put the lid back on the marker, turning to smile at Mrs Hudson, "Yes, Mrs Hudson?"

"Talk to John," she urged them.

"We tried talking to him," Sherlock told her, not looking away from the wall, "He made his position quite clear".

She frowned, "What did he say?"

"Fu…."

Amelia hurriedly cleared her throat, cutting off Sherlock, "Let's just say that it wasn't very pleasant," she said with a grim look, glancing over to the older woman.

"Ooh, dear!" Mrs Hudson grimaced, getting a pretty good idea of just what Sherlock had been about to say before being cut off. She turned and hurried back downstairs, leaving the detectives to their work.

It's my 20th birthdaytoday, so I thought I would post this chapter today. I know that the chapters is a bit short, but I felt like I needed to cut it here for the next chapter to flow better. The next chapter will be a lot longer than this one and Amelia's outfit will be on my profile and Tumblr page.

Next chapter, will wearing so much pink prove to be a really bad idea? What song has Amelia put on Sherlock's phone for her text alert? And who is Amelia concerned about possibly having an issue with her feelings for Sherlock? Tell me what you thought, please review :)