Hello! I know, long time, no update. Things were a bit busier than expected. Anyways, just a few things to let you all in on. 1) This is after the Hounds of Baskerville, but some time before The Reichenbach Fall. Just imagine it as an "in-between" case period. 2) Apiology is the study of bees. c) no 3) if there is anything else you lovely readers want to know, just PM me or review it and I will get back to you pronto. I want to thank my reviewers individually, so here it goes. Katherine Winchester, Katies2105, yes-i-am-a-genius, Teshka, the Guests, Anonymous, Bint234xnight, Yeedle, Frstbitten, Crystalskies14, and Iris, THANK YOU for taking the time to review this. I also want to thank all of my followers and favoriters and of course anyone and everyone who reads this. I love you all. Last note, I met some wonderful people on here and their story is called, "The Path he Walks Alone." Made me cry. You might want to check it out because I am not lying about how nice the authors are. Alright. I rant too much. Apologies. Again, I love and thank each and every one of you. I am out!

-HS

Just as John had said, Christmas was only days away. From the time of the morgue incident to the evening of the dreaded event, things went smoothly in Amelie's life. Her headaches only bothered her when she forgot about her medication, she blew up the kitchen just once in an experiment gone wrong, John made her an enormous amount of scrambled eggs each morning, and Sherlock stayed Sherlock, except he was more gentle and kind towards Amelie. Only once did he become truly frustrating when he received a text from Mycroft about a problem of some sort. He refused to talk to anyone and insisted upon flipping his phone in his hand and looking out the window.

The flat had transformed over the course of the time. Lights, decorations, and candles went up all over the inside of the building. Amelie hated it. Sherlock attempted to make it seem like he loathed it as well, but Amelie caught him glancing over at his skull in its Santa hat one too many times for him to even remotely be speaking the truth. It isn't my fault that I hate Christmas. Not like I was dropped back into the orphanage by three different families on this day or my parents died Christmas morning because I wanted it that way. I will smile and act, though. For John's and Mrs. Hudson's sake.

"Sherlock, I am going to run out to Tesco's and get some eggnog and gin, alright?"

The detective simply waved his hand at John and went back to reading his book on apiology. Having nothing better to do, Amelie decided to go bug Sherlock.

"You know the bees are disappearing?" No reply.

"The whole science community is in a fuss about it." No reply.

"They think it has to do with climate change, but I think that it could be like that one episode of Doctor-"Amelie was interrupted by Sherlock slamming the book on his lap.

"Will you please shut up?"

Smirking at her accomplishment, Amelie said, "You failed rather miserably."

Looking appalled at failing anything Sherlock asked, "What did I fail?"

"My patience test. I really thought you could hold out a bit longer than a few remarks."

Narrowing his eyes at her, Sherlock didn't grace that comment with an answer. Instead, he opened his book and continued reading. Amelie frowned at the lack of a response and decided to just leave the conversation there. Going to lay on her designated couch, Amelie realized she hadn't gotten anything for the Baker Street family. I could always catch up to John and find something at a small shop, but I don't know what I would get. Think, Amelie. It is one day until Christmas. What can you do? Oh. "Brilliant!"

Sherlock looked over at Amelie as she excitedly went about getting paper and a pencil. Deciding her odd actions were far more intriguing than his book he asked, "What are you doing?"

Stopping in mid lean over some chemicals resting on the counter to get a ruler, Amelie said, "It is a secret."

"How secretive do you plan on being as I can see what you are doing any way I turn?"

"How about you just read your book?"

"I can't when I see you leaning precariously over a mixture of chemicals that could very well explode if they come into contact with each other."

Finally reaching the ruler, Amelie leaned back into an upright position and pointed the stick at Sherlock. "You didn't want me to bother you, yet you insist upon being a nuisance. Don't try to deduce what I am doing, Sherlock. It isn't going to end well." Amelie then closed the kitchen off with the sliding glass wall and sat in the nook to go about her Christmas gift. D. B flat. F. B flat...

Voices seeping through the small gaps of the glass disturbed Amelie's composing. Seriously? I need at least two more chords and a phrase with a partial in it. Hey, voices? Be quiet. Her mental demands went unheard in the psychic world of the flat and Amelie gave up on finishing her piece. Laying her head down (loudly) in frustration, Amelie combed her fingers through her hair to coax the notes back, yet they refused to return. Fine. Fantastic. I will finish it later.

John. John. John. Where are you, John? There are people in the flat, John. I can only stand one of them, John. Why are you still gone, JOHN? Sherlock called out cerebrally a multitude of times, but the army doctor failed to report. Deciding he was left alone until John returned, Sherlock attempted to slightly be sociable without moving from his chair.

"So, you were right, Sherlock."

Lestrade has said something about me being right, most likely referring to the case. I am always right. "Obviously."

Rubbing his hand on his neck, Lestrade let out a huff of laughter and said, "Yeah, suppose it is. Anyways, thanks for the help, mate. Wouldn't have figured it out without you."

Leaning in the doorway, Sally Donovan smirked and added on, "Well, we would have figured it out, sir, just not as fast as our genius."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow at that. "Was that a compliment Miss Donovan?"

Widening her eyes in fake disgust, Sally replied, "Don't expect it to happen again... freak."

A teenage boy at the mantle was playing with Sherlock's skull. Turning around with skull in hand he asked, "Is this real?"

Sherlock scanned his eyes angrily over the child. "Yes it is. Put. It. Back." The teen hastily placed the skull back after hearing the venom dripping from the detective's voice and shuffled his feet uncomfortably around. "I'm sorry."

Sally rolled her eyes at the teen's awkwardness and said, "Sherlock, this is my cousin's son, Will Fallion. Had to-"

Sherlock already deducted everything five minutes earlier to her stating this and interrupted by saying, "-Bring him here because his parents are in the hospital for his younger sister. They didn't want his Christmas Eve spent in a sterile waiting room with other grieving families, so they dropped him off inconsiderately on you. You are here because you have confused feelings over my actions at the crime scene a few days ago and had nowhere to leave him." Turning to the now frowning teen, the detective continued to say, "You don't want to be here, but you also don't want to be at the hospital. Try to not break anything and be quiet and I think I can manage having your presence around."

Lestrade jumped in and exclaimed "What is up with you Sherlock?"

Sherlock scrunched his eyebrows in confusion and asked, "What do you mean by that Lestrade?"

Grinning a little, Lestrade replied, "You are being somewhat pleasant. Has your Christmas present already come?"

A certain army doctor, a not-a-housekeeper landlady, and mortician walked in at that moment as Sherlock struggled to find an answer to his change of attitude. Following the soldier's movements to greet everybody, Sherlock managed to catch his eye and sent another silent message to him. Glorious. John, save me. I managed the people, now you take over.

John received the memo and said, "Well, I didn't expect you all of you to even be here, especially you Sally. I hope Sherlock has been behaving."

A snort escaped Sherlock. Behave? I always behave.

As Sherlock rolled around a thousand thoughts in his mind, the rest of the group continued to talk and catch up. All was completely dull to the detective and he desperately wished for his violin. Realizing it was just next to his chair; he brought it into his hands and gently moved the tips of his fingers up and down the strings.

Sherlock plucked at the instruments taut cords and notes bounced around the room causing a hush to come upon the gathering of people in the flat. Mrs. Hudson's smile reached past her eyes and she asked, "Oh, deary, could you play us a little festive tune? You are so wonderful at it."

Music always has been Sherlock's shield for sentiment, so he gladly reciprocated by grabbing his bow and filling the space with holiday harmonies.

Watching Sherlock intently, Sally whispered to Lestrade, "I never knew the freak could play."

The Detective Inspector only smiled and said, "I believe there are a lot of things we don't know about Sherlock Holmes."

John was standing next to them and shook his head. "I still don't know anything about him. That is just Sherlock for you."

Molly overheard the group beginning to chat again so she popped in for a comment. "I think it's just wonderful what he does."

Everyone laughed as they started talking about the things Sherlock had done, but they, and Sherlock's music, stopped as they heard a thump come from the closed off kitchen.

Lestrade was the one to ask the most obvious question first, "What was that?"

John and Sherlock stared at each other with wide eyes and John, without looking away, said, "Have we not told you? We, uhm, have another tenant."

Someone is rapping on the door. Abrupt, yet concise, and began at a shorter height. John. "Yes, Doctor?"

The divider slid open and a sandy blonde head popped in. Amelie casually flipped her music sheets over and under a plate and turned to look at the army doctor as he began to speak.

"We have some unexpected guests over and we may or may not have forgotten to tell them you were living-"

A voice yelling from the living room interrupted John. "Just bring her in here!"

Not Sherlock. Not female. Older and commanding, but not like a military style, more of a correctional officer. Someone Sherlock and John works with. A detective as well? Curious to see if she was correct, Amelie gathered herself up, wrapped her lengthy midnight black robe around her petite figure, fixed her hair into a messy bun, rearranged her necklace, and walked through the now open door. Her eyes drank in the fresh individuals in the room easily. Molly, Mrs. Hudson, Detective Inspector, Sergeant, and... teenager? Drifts towards female Sergeant, must be a nephew or relation of some sort. Are they waiting for me to say something? Interesting, they must be in shock. Smiling, almost too brightly, Amelie broke the silence by saying, "Hello."

Quiet. Why is Mrs. Hudson silent? Wait, she left. The elephant in the room probably urged her to go grab some treats. Everyone is staring, am I supposed to say something more?

"Apparently you haven't been informed of my residence here." Silence.

Furrowing her brows in annoyance, Amelie said, "I have been here for almost two weeks now. My name is Amelie Emmerton. John and Sherlock are my temporary guardians-" Sherlock opened his mouth in protest and Amelie stopped him by saying, "There are two reasons why Mycroft made you upset the other day. Moriarty and guardianship. I am going to assume it was both." And the jaw snaps shut. Score: Amelie: 1 Sherlock: 0.

Turning to the silent as ever group of a D.I., Sergeant, teenager, and mortician, Amelie continued her explanation. "I understand you have questions. I don't want to deal with the tedious roll of inquiries that'll be asked, so do try to not interrupt me. Yes, I am American. Yes, I am a teenager. Sixteen. No, I do not have parents or any family of that matter. They died. Sherlock and John are suitable guardians. Moriarty is why I am here. No, I don't want to talk about that tonight."

Silence was the loudest one in the room at that point. Nothing? Oh come on, this muteness is more aggravating than when they were talking. Amelie turned her head expectantly at John to tell him to fix the visitors via eye contact. Obviously getting the message, John cleared his throat and asked, "Is anyone up for some gin and eggnog?"

That seemed to be the medicine for the shocked guests and they all followed John into the kitchen, including Sherlock, except for Will. He could only focus on the girl standing in front of him. She is beautiful.

Amelie paid him no attention as she went to sit on the couch and rubbed her hands over her face in weariness.

Not knowing what to do, Will decided to walk over to the lounger and sat timidly on the other end of it.

Amelie narrowed an eye at him in annoyance, but eased up the glare when she noted he had a dying sister in the hospital from the identification bracelet sticking out of his coat pocket. She still didn't want to talk to him, though.

Will, apparently, had other ideas. "I'm Will."

Rolling her eyes, Amelie replied with, "Clearly that is you, judging from the name sewn into your clothing tag."

A flush of red came across the boy's fair skin as he pushed the tag back into its rightful place. "That was really, ah, observant of you."

Amelie took a deep breath in and slowly let it out. "Trust me when I tell you that I am far more observant than simply seeing a name."

"How observant is that, then?"

I just wanted to sit here and wait out the mingling. "I don't know how observant I am. I just am."

"Oh."

Amelie thought the conversation would end there, but the topic decided to stand as Will spoke, again. "What else do you see about me?"

Closing her eyes and biting her lip, Amelie turned entirely towards the teenage boy and opened her eyes to really look. She read everything from his two Persian cats to the guitar playing to the family troubles. Sighing, Amelie said, "I have learned most people don't enjoy having their life story told to them. Although, it makes no sense about why it makes some so upset, I am not ignorant to the fact that there are things they wish to be left unsaid."

"My sister is dying, my mum and dad are splitting up, I play the guitar, and I have two cats, but I really hate them."

"I know."

Will smiled and said, "I know you knew by the way your eyes addressed certain points of me. Thanks for considering my feelings, but I asked. You don't have to ever be afraid when I asked for it."

Nodding her head in understanding, Amelie thought the conversation ended. She leaned further into the side of the couch and listened to the conversation going on in the kitchen. Yet again, Will decided to keep the chat going. "What do you think they are talking about?"

Amelie let her head fall into her open palms and thoroughly massaged her temples. "Me. William...Me."

"You must be pretty interesting, then."

Sherlock! John! Get these people out of the house. I cannot properly socialize. Help. S.O.S. Anyone? This is the worst non-rescue ever. "I don't know. I have a dead family, a criminal who tried to kill me, and two guardians who are the most wonderful, yet absurd human beings I have ever known. I am just the thing that ties all of that together."

Not realizing how upfront she would be about death, Will grasped for something, anything, to say to that. He settled for a simple avenue of conversation. "I see. Well, you have a pretty cool name."

Is this what normal people talk about? "It is a name, a series of sounds by which people can either choose to call me by or choose to not call me by. Just like yours and everyone else."

Will gave a small laugh and shrug. "I know, but yours is just a unique series of sounds."

Amelie frowned in confusion. What is he doing? Did he just call me unique? What am I supposed to say to that? Is this an attempt at friendship? I'm not good at these things. Should I inform him of that? "I'm not very...good... at," Amelie took a moment to move her hand between the two of them and continued saying, "this."

The boy smiled and calmly said, in assurance, "I am absolute rubbish at this as well. Small talk has never been my forte."

Small talk? Is that a saying for children's conversations? This is tedious. What are the "adults" talking about? Moriarty. My memory- "Oh, god."

Worry played across Will's face as he asked, "Did I say something wrong?"

Holding a finger up in his face in a silent sign of, "Do be quiet", Amelie continued to mumble things about being stupid and forgettable.

The teenager became concerned for the gorgeous girl shaking her head next to him, so he scooted closer and leaned his head closer to her own. "Are you alright," he whispered.

Breath is too close and too minty. I don't believe this is definition of friendship. Space. It is personal. "I. Am. Fine. Just incredibly stupid."

Biting his lip in trying to conjure up something to say to that, Will decided to say, "I don't think you are stupid. I mean, you seem fairly intelligent to me."

"Of course, I am intelligent. My actions and lack of saying anything is, in fact, what is stupid."

Confused as ever, Will leaned back into the couch and said, "What didn't you say?"

His thigh is touching my own. Wrong night to wear shorts. My robe's stuck underneath me. Not friendly terms. Is this flire, florn, flirping, oh, hell. What's the word? Flirt? Ah. That is it. Flirting. Oh, joy. Looking deliberately peeved, Amelie turned her head and two crystal blue eyes met her own gray-green ones. "I remember."

Will couldn't help, but swallow at the intensity of Amelie's tone. He wanted to ask about her remembering, but found himself lost in her calculating eyes. Forest green around the edge with flecks of gray in the filling color of emerald, but the green and gray landscape was shattered by a sun burst of gold emanating around her pupil. His eyes drifted, without warning, to her cupid bow lips and suddenly, he noticed how close the two of them were and was automatically standing. Rubbing his hand along the nape of his neck and into his wavy brown hair, Will said, "I am sorry, I didn't, I don't." Absent were words to properly explain himself.

Amelie watched the boy pace about the room in fascination. I have no idea why he is upset. This is wonderful! I am so completely at a loss about what just happened and I am happy about it? I want to know, but do I? I still have to tell Sherlock and John that my memory returned. I don't understand why I forgot. Why is he still pacing? It is annoying. "Stop that."

Will stopped and leaned back into his heels. Turning his tinged with pink face towards her pale and calm one, he unlocked his stiff jaw to let out a quiet apology. Amelie didn't understand why he was about to make amends so she stopped him from saying anything by demanding, "No. Don't do that."

"Don't do what?"

"Apologize. It is meaningless. Also, I don't understand why you would, so don't."

"I, well, I suppose, okay." Defeat played across his features and Will went to sit back on the couch. Together, he and Amelie sat in silence, listening to the hushed voices of everyone talking. "Christmas Eve isn't really my favorite eve."

"Nor is it mine, Will. Nor is it mine."