"Sherlock," I murmured, "Tell me what's going on. What do I need to do?"
Sherlock turned around to pick up his tell-tale blue scarf, and looped it around his neck. I broke away from River to stand in front of him. But those ageless, beautiful eyes looked on- far away from me- without mercy. I knew that look, too, the emotionless hush of realisation. I had seen it on the Doctor, when he was forced to be reminded of the fate of Gallifrey. Sherlock donned on his coat and turned to face the door.
"You don't have to do this- you don't get to shut us all out!" I spat, and then mumbled, "I am scared, Sherlock, I am- I am properly frightened."
"Amelia-"
Greg Lestrade entered the flat with two armed officers. River pulled me away as one of them walked forwards with handcuffs outstretched. As the cuff circled Sherlock left wrist, Lestrade tersely announced, "Sherlock Holmes, I'm arresting you on suspicion of abduction and kidnapping."
"That's bull shite and you know it!" I seethed, "Greg- it's Sherlock!"
"He's not resisting," John growled to the officers roughly handling the consulting detective, gesticulating at Sherlock, and looked at Lestrade as well.
"It's all right," Sherlock said coolly. The officer gave him another harsh nudge.
"He's not resisting. No- it's not all right. This is ridiculous," John argued.
"Get him downstairs. Now," Lestrade ordered.
The officer spun Sherlock around, and began to march him out. "Sherlock," I called out faintly. Everyone looked at me, but Sherlock. "I would pick a better boyfriend next time, Sweets," one of the officers laughed.
"You know you don't have to-" John began in earnest.
The inspector got into John's face, and jabbed a finger into his chest. "Don't try to interfere- either of you. Or I shall arrest the lot of you!" he growled, and shot me a warning look over John's shoulder.
A female detective remained at the door. She watched me with a mild interest, and looked incredibly smug. John glared darkly at her and his hands clenched into fists at his side.
"You done?" he growled behind clenched teeth.
The woman all but strutted into the flat- giving off airs that could bring down a space whale. "Oh, I said it," she boasted.
"Said what?" I demanded coldly.
"First time we met," the detective reminded John.
"Don't bother," John warned.
She walked up to me, grinning wildly. "I told him, 'Solving crimes won't be enough. One day he'll cross the line.' Now ask yourself- what kind of a man would kidnap those kids just so that he can impress us by finding him?"
Mrs. Hudson gasped, and I took a step closer to the woman. My eyes unflinchingly met hers and I inquired, "Ask yourself- what level of stupidity is the tart that actually believes that? Or better yet, why haven't you been the body in the bag that Sherlock put there?" I raised my hand to strike her, but River slyly took hold of my hand before I could even lift it.
"Smarter than the chit who wants to fuc-"
"-Donovan."
"Sir," Donovan greeted.
"Got our man?" the Chief Superintendent drawled.
"Er- yes, sir."
"Looked a bit of a weirdo, if you ask me."
John's face darkened and he turned to face the superintendent. I had seen that look before on him as well.
"Often are- these vigilante types," the oaf prattled on, and looked around the living room. He turned and finally realised John was staring at him. He puffed out his obscenely rotund chest and barked, "What are you looking at?"
I ducked behind my curtain of hair to hide my smirk as John moved forward. I muffled my snicker when I heard the tell-tale crack of bone, and the Chief Inspector squealed like a pig. Beneath my lashes, I saw John be carted away by the lingering officers. I brushed back my hair, and met River's gaze.
"How long have you been in love with him, Mother?" she asked, almost sounding sad.
I wasn't prepared for that. I felt my face go hot and cold all at once. "I don't know," I stammered, "From the beginning- last week- last month."
"Does he know?"
"Of course he does, but not because I told him…"
"Ladies and gentlemen, will you all please get on your knees?"
I flew to the window and beheld Sherlock shackled to John- the former with a gun in his hand aimed at the police officers nearest him. When the cluster of bobbies looked at him dumbly, he fired twice into the air.
"NOW would be good!" Sherlock exclaimed.
"Do as he says!" Lestrade ordered, and motioned everyone to the ground.
"Just- Just so you are aware, the gun is his idea. I'm just a- you know…" John explained loudly.
Sherlock brought the pistol over to his right hand, and then aimed it at John's head, "My hostage!" he concluded.
I would have laughed at the absurdity of it all- were it not for my heart not trying to beat its way out of my chest in its terror. I watched my two friends back away from the kneeling police. "We have to help," I began, turning to face River, but my daughter was gone. I looked back through the window just in time to catch the last scrap of Sherlock's belstaff slip into the shadows of a nearby alley. My eyes darted all over Baker Street in search of John and Sherlock's reappearance, but instead fell upon some fresh graffiti.
Huge letters of glistening red paint, at least one metre long, spelled out, "IOU." The strange message was surrounded by intricate angel wings that were so dark- they seemed to absorb all light around them. "I-O-U," I repeated softly, "What does it mean?"
"Oh, Amy, you should get yourself home- you've been through quite a shock," Mrs. Hudson tutted when she came upstairs to shut the door.
"I'm not going anywhere," I mumbled, and looked at her distantly, "I'm not leaving- not this time." I stood at the window until Mrs. Hudson shut the door behind her. I looked at Sherlock's violin, in its dutiful resting place, and then to John's laptop which was still on. I shut the aforementioned down, and picked up the clutter on coffee table. I meandered about the kitchen as I struggled to make a decision on what to do next.
I padded down the hallway, and then slipped into Sherlock's bedroom. I expected to find Irene Adler in his bed, like the first time. But it was only me. I left Sherlock's things untouched, and sat on the edge of his bed. "Doctor, please," I prayed into the silence, "If you can hear me- help him. Save Sherlock Holmes."
I dropped my head onto his pillow. My senses were filled with a sterile scent- not of detergent or bleach- but similar to the neutral air in a hospital ward. It was the clean musk that gently exuded from the consulting detective. Without much warning I started to cry; my tears rolled down the side of the bridge of my nose, and the side of my face…ending on Sherlock's pillow. I wasn't going to disappear- not this time- Sherlock Holmes needed me, whether her knew it or not.
