Just a little note here; the POV does change around a bit now, but if you all are having difficulties, I will make sure to label the POV with the character. Thank you all for continuing to read my story or even just giving it a passing glance. Each and every one of you matters to me and the thrill of writing this is almost overwhelming because I have people who actually like it. So, again, thank you.

-HS

Amelie woke with a start. Feeling her heart race inside her chest and hearing a thousand drums pounding in her ears, she stumbled up off the couch to go grab her medication. Shaking out two of the little white capsules and clumsily making her way to the sink, Amelie downed her pills and slid down the front cupboards with her head in her hands. Feeling the perspiration on her face, Amelie reached up behind her head and grabbed the cloth that was in the basin to wipe it away. Only when she held the rag in front of her, did she notice her hands trembling. What in the world was I dreaming?

Sitting on the ground for a few minutes, contemplating over what could have caused her reaction, Amelie noticed she was the only one up. Checking the wall clock for the time, it said that it was five thirty in the morning. Five thirty? I never sleep that often, but when I do, I at least make it to eight. I can't even go back to sleep now. What is a girl supposed to do at this time?

Running her hands through her hair in wonder, Amelie stopped to take notice of how stringy it was. When was the last time I showered? Oh, god, this is horrible. They must have cleaned you up at the hospital, so it's only a day. It's all fine. Not believing what she was telling herself, Amelie made her way to the bathroom. Switching on the light to look at her reflection in the mirror, Amelie realized she hadn't seen herself for days. Pausing to take note of any differences, Amelie saw a slight bruise on the edge of her hairline. Time had taken the pain away from it, but didn't erase the shade of black just yet. Tenderly probing it, she saw it as the only evidence that something had actually happened to her four days ago. That and the bags under my eyes. I have slept more this week than I have in my entire life! How can I still look so tired.

Amelie shook her head with frustration and decided a shower was well deserved. Looking down at her clothes she noticed they were the same ones she came back to 221B in. I slept in my clothes. This is getting beyond ridiculous. Time to get yourself together Amelie. I mean, you are a mess. Grabbing a towel from beneath the sink, Amelie started up the water and waited for it to get warm. Keeping her hand in for testing she noticed the products inside. Men's Shampoo and Conditioner. I've had worse, I suppose.

Leaving the bathroom to get her razor and a change of clothes, Amelie came back into the now steamy room and hardly glanced at the mirror before shedding her attire. Stopping mid-strip, Amelie slowly stood straight up and turned to look at the fog covered mirror. What laid on it were three simple letters.

I. O. U.

"I owe you, what?" Amelie asked aloud. What she wasn't expecting were the memories that replied.

Doubling over, pressing her hands to her head, Amelie tried to slow down the flood of memories that raged through her mind. A blanket of snow covering an empty park. An apple left in a sea of white. I owe you a fall. A devilish face coming from the darkness. Came just to say hi. Disappointment. The crack of ice and whistling. Everything came back at once and left Amelie on the ground shaking as the steam blanketed her in a damp shroud.

Beginning to feel the first tiny droplets of tears in her eyes, Amelie slammed her fist into the ground. No. I am going to be fine. Get up Amelie. Get up. Pushing up off the floor, Amelie went to look back at the mirror. With a quick swipe of her hand across it she got rid of the hateful three letters and stared down into the porcelain sink. Looking back up at the path Amelie made through the mist, she saw her face again. All the color had drained out and her eyes became rimmed with red. This is what Moriarty does to you. Makes you feel weak and unworthy of life. A disappointment he called me. Well, no more. He wants me broken; I will show him I am indestructible. Smiling at herself in the mirror, Amelie saw the determined glint of life in her eyes. Indestructible.

Taking her time to fully enjoy her shower, Amelie was able to step out feeling restored. Her memories had returned and even though they were entirely unpleasant, it gave her the last piece of her mind back. I'm going to have to tell Sherlock and John about this. About everything. Moriarty killed my parents. He wanted Sherlock to notice him so he killed me. I mean nothing to him. Only wanted to say hello. The man is surely insane. There is something gone, though. Something I am not seeing. Oh, yes. Why is Sherlock so important to him?

She shook her head at that question and planned on asking that once the detective got up. Tossing her choice of clothing on, black jeans and a blue striped jumper- Dear god, I have been in England too long. I am calling sweaters, jumpers- Amelie walked back into the living room, rubbing her hair dry with a towel.

Stopping suddenly, towel still in hand, Amelie watched the figure that was on her couch. No, that's wrong. Not mine, theirs. Quit being so possessive.

Taking her thoughts away from a personal scolding, Amelie's mind turned back to the lanky detective lying on the couch. Spread out exactly like she was herself five days ago, fingers steepled underneath chin, Sherlock turned his head to acknowledge Amelie.

"You are dripping all over my carpet."

Looking down awkwardly at the little water stains blooming on the floor; Amelie wrapped the towel around her head to stop the beads of liquid leaving the ends of her hair.

"You look ridiculous now."

"Thank you for pointing out the obvious, but it is keeping your floor dry, so do not insult the turban."

"A turban is a man's headdress usually consisting of a silken material."

"Yes, well now it's this towel on my head." Sherlock opened his mouth to say more, but Amelie stopped him with a pointed finger. "No you don't. I am feeling pretty spectacular now and it is really early in the morning so do not make me into a serious, angsty, teenager that I usually am because I am on the border line of sulking heavily with you giving me facts I already know."

Sherlock furrowed his brows at the pointing finger and closed his mouth with an audible click. Then, a thought came to his mind that Amelie could see displayed across his features. Oh gosh, what is he going to say?

"Are you ready to go?"

What?

Clearly, Sherlock saw the confusion on her face and simply said, "Two minutes. Downstairs." He then left the room, grabbing his scarf and coat and descended to the first floor of the building.

I don't even know what just happened. Dazedly, Amelie grabbed her boots and jacket and worked quickly to put them on. Just as she was about to go after Sherlock, Amelie decided to leave a note for John.

Left with Sherlock going to god knows where. Don't fret.

-AE

Well, this feels like déjà vu, except John is the one being left. I wonder- Amelie never finished her thought as she heard the door from downstairs open and close. Twisting around, Amelie picked up her scarf that was lying haphazardly on her suitcase and sprinted down the flight of steps with ease. Seeing the detective outside and already climbing into the cab, Amelie didn't stop her stride until she was flying ungracefully towards the open car door. Moving her feet backwards to stop her still forward moving body, Amelie ended up in a heap on the ground.

Sherlock knew Amelie would come as soon as the door closing sounded throughout the flat. He could see it in her eyes that she was too curious about what he was going on about for her own good. Sherlock played out various scenarios of her marching out of the door to the building saying something witty or nothing at all, but the one thing he did not expect was for her to fly out to the street and end up in a twisted ball of human. Shaking his head at the absolute absurdity of the girl, Sherlock stepped out of the black cab and noticed the towel still left firmly on her head. He subtly thought of simply leaving her there, but a strange feeling crept into his chest. The same indescribable sensation that he had the first night Amelie spent in his home, or when he saw her breathe again after pulling her out of the icy depths, or when he stopped her torrent of tears in a sterile hospital room, or when he saw the look of joy that came on her face when she entered 221B again, or watching her sleep peacefully on his table surrounded by chemicals and body parts, or just now. What has this girl placed in my heart?

Feeling like his emotions were entirely too exposed, Sherlock shoved them into the recesses of his mind by asking, "What are you doing," even though he already knew the answer.

Accusing eyes shot up to look at him and Sherlock had to stifle the urge to laugh. Laughing. John makes me laugh. Now this girl is getting me to, as well? Sticking out his gloved hand to Amelie, Sherlock said, "Come on. You aren't getting anywhere by sitting on the ground."

Taking it with reluctance, Amelie brought herself back to her standing height, which in no one's defense, was fairly short. Brushing off the slush and grime from her clothes, Amelie walked past Sherlock and into the warmth of the cab with her chin lifted. Sherlock sighed and turned around to follow Amelie. Instead of merely getting in, though, Sherlock plucked the towel from Amelie's head and went inside to toss it over the banister of the stairs. As he strode back to the car he saw Amelie's cheeks had gone pink and she was nervously combing her fingers through her wet hair. Spectacularly mature and intelligent, yet she still frets over her hair like an average teenager. I don't understand her one bit.

Finally sitting in the cab, Amelie had turned away from him and the cabby opened his mouth to say something in regards to her spill on the sidewalk. Knowing fully what he was going to say was undoubtedly snide; Sherlock sent him a look into his rearview mirror that spoke louder than any words. Do not say a single thing. Shut up and take me to my destination. "St. Bart's Hospital."

The cabby gave a curt nod and set the vehicle in motion. Sherlock then chose to look over at Amelie and see if she was actually alright. Amelie stared back at him and thought of a thousand different things to say, but ended up coming out with, "St. Bart's Hospital? Why are we going there?"

For the second time that day, Sherlock became surprised. He was expecting something sarcastic, but this morning Amelie wasn't playing ball. It was almost disappointing, but Sherlock figured it was something that just came with the morning hours. " I need to get to the morgue."

Amelie had a bewildered expression come on her face as she asked, "Why?"

Trying to rile her up a bit, Sherlock retorted with, "A girl with your intellect should see the obvious. We are going to the morgue to examine the remains of cadavers."

Picking up on the bait, Amelie said, "Obviously, as a man with your intellect, you should have been able to understand that I was asking about the need of going to the morgue, not the cadavers that will inevitably be there for examination."

Not perfect, but that will do. "Didn't I mention I was a consulting detective? The police need my help. There's been a murder."