Wrote this in the wee hours of the morning. I am sorry if it is terrible. Writing emotion into a high functioning sociopath and keeping him in character is harder than one would think.

-HS

The eve of Christmas passed with hushed undertones coming from the kitchen.

John leaned on the counter unable to reply to what Sally was saying. Come on now, Sherlock. Now isn't the time for your bloody mouth to be shut off. Say something!

"Are you two even qualified to take care of a child?" Sally hissed.

Lestrade gave an agreement in taking the time to point at the chemicals on the counter. "I know you both are adults, but you can not be serious. Look at what both of you do! How can you even have the time for taking on a teenager?"

John could see the anger coming from Sherlock. Easily, he could reciprocate the feelings. Clenching his hand to keep it from shaking, John quietly whispered, "Look, the first things both of you need to understand is that we are temporary guardians. We took her on because she has no one. Her foster family just threw her away for god's sake! What were we supposed to do? Leave her on the damn streets?"

Molly couldn't hold her own thoughts back any longer. Looking at the detective who had his hands gripping the edge of table, she said, "Sherlock, you brought her to the morgue. If what you said, you know, about her being dead and then leaving her all alone... I mean I am not blaming you or anything or trying to make you feel guilty, I just mean that, oh gosh. Can you really make sure that she's going to be alright?"

I cannot believe this. John didn't allow for Sherlock to speak up."Of course we can make sure she will be alright. We aren't incapable, you know."

Sally picked up a container of human ears and didn't say anything as Sherlock snatched them out of her hands and put them by the sink. She crossed her arms as if she made her point very clear without needing to use any extra breath from her lungs.

Closing his eyes and taking a moment to put all of his emotions in check, John fell into his soldier's stance. Straight back, lifted and set jaw, clenched fist, and a slight roll of his Adam's apple as he swallowed down a thousand and one profanities. Stepping forward and glancing at the pained expression on Sherlock's face, John breathed in Sally's ear, "Get. Out."

Stunned at what the warm and jumper wearing army doctor just said, Sally had to ask, "What?"

"I said. Get. Out."

Lestrade couldn't believe how intense John had become. "John, we are only-"

Not wanting to hear any of it John turned to Lestrade and said, "You, too. Get out."

"But, John-"Lestrade stopped at the look John shot at him. Not knowing what to do, Lestrade looked over at Sherlock to see if he would be any help. Looking at the bone white fingers gripping the edge of the tabletop and the deep breaths passing through his friend's body, the D.I. decided that leaving would be in best interest. "I'm sorry, John. I didn't... I'm just going to go now. Come on Donovan."

"Sir, we can't-"

Already having his coat back on Lestrade interrupted the Sergeant by saying, "Yes, we can. No more. It isn't our place. Come on."

Reluctantly, Sally turned to leave. John heard her call Will and all of them descending the stairs. He could also hear Mrs. Hudson giving them a Happy Christmas and muffled replies of it back to her. That was a bit not good.

Molly stuttered out a quick farewell as she saw John look regrettably at the shaking form of Sherlock Holmes. Hurriedly she said, "Happy Christmas", and sprinted out of the flat and down the steps.

John could see the inner agony Sherlock was dealing with. Everything Molly, Lestrade and Sally had said hit home. Sherlock blamed himself for everything that had happened to Amelie. Her death, her break down, her abandonment... Everything. He is questioning himself. He thinks they were right.

Hearing soft footsteps walk into the kitchen, John didn't have to turn around to know it was Amelie. Silently she came up behind him, and hooked her arm inside his. Together they stood watching Sherlock until he lifted his head to look at them back.

Cracks in the baritone voice were clear as Sherlock said, "I'm sorry. I am so sorry, Amelie. Everything that has happened... I thought I could take care of you. I thought I could keep you safe. I am wrong, though. I am never wrong, but this? Me taking care of you is wrong."

John moved his head to look at the teenager as she snuggled further into the crook of his arm. Quietly she said, "I know."

John let his mouth fall open and he didn't take his eyes off Amelie to see that Sherlock had done the same thing.

Amelie turned her head so that her eyes could meet John's and then looked over at the shocked consulting detective. A smile spread across her face and John was desperately confused and heart-broken. I thought we were doing an alright job. I didn't think that she would find herself to not like it here. Why is she smiling?

Stepping away from John so she could see both men at once, Amelie slowly said, "I know that you taking care of me is incredibly wrong. It is undeniably wrong. What is right, though, is us, taking care of each other. That, Sherlock and John, is incredibly right."

No one said anything as Sherlock came over and brought Amelie into his chest and silently sobbed. John came over as the two started to sink to the floor and joined in on the embrace. Absent mindedly running his fingers through Sherlock's mess of hair, they all sat on the kitchen floor with Sherlock saying, "I'm sorry. I am so sorry" over and over.

Amelie knew what the adults had discussed as soon as she saw the trembling consulting detective. She could see it in the fingers that held on to the table for dear life, the shudders that could barely be seen rolling through his body, and the shining eyes that turned to look at her and John. Doubt isn't well received with him. Sherlock is a man to believe himself to be entirely right and those people just leaked into his mind that he isn't. That he can't take care of me.

"I'm sorry. I am so sorry, Amelie. Everything that has happened... I thought I could take care of you. I thought I could keep you safe. I am wrong, though. I am never wrong, but this? Me taking care of you is wrong."

Amelie hid her head in John's arm as he said this. She couldn't bear to see how much emotion the detective was willingly exposing. Speaking into the ridiculous cotton fibers of John's sweater, Amelie said, "I know."

She knew that was the oddest thing for her to say and wasn't surprised at the looks John and Sherlock gave her. Devastation. I have just devastated them. I am not done, though. Can they really not see? It will never be them taking of me. It has always been us taking care of one another.

Deciding she let the feeling of gloom permeate the room long enough, Amelie moved away from the army doctor to look at both of the men in the room. She couldn't break the smile that had stretched across her face. I am making them so confused. I really shouldn't be taking any joy in this.

Taking her time to say exactly what she had thought, Amelie stated, "I know that you taking care of me is incredibly wrong. It is undeniably wrong. What is right, though, is us, taking care of each other. That, Sherlock and John, is incredibly right."

She wasn't expecting Sherlock to enclose her in a shield of lanky arms as she said this. Uncertainly, she wrapped her own arms around him and felt his stability falter. Lowering them to the ground, she detected John's arms adding into the bundle of people. Amelie also felt her hair grow damp. Is Sherlock crying? Oh my god. I made him cry. This isn't what I wanted. I didn't mean to make this happen. How did I even manage to do this?

Amelie had her answers given as Sherlock insisted upon repeating, "I'm sorry. I am so sorry."

This display of emotion is so weird coming from him. I think I should go with it, though. Wrapping her arms even tighter around Sherlock, Amelie could only think, it's us fixing each other. We are all fixing each other.

The group didn't see Mrs. Hudson take a picture of them as she sent it to the newly acquired number of Greg Lestrade. Typing in a caption (apparently you can do that now) she sent the message, closed the door of the flat and went to her own part of the building.

Lestrade opened up the message sent to him by Sherlock's landlady, Mrs. Hudson. It was a picture of John, Sherlock, and Amelie, tightly embracing on the kitchen floor. Captioned was:

Such dears. Looks like a family doesn't it, Inspector?

Closing his phone with a sigh, Lestrade couldn't help, but agree. Does look like a bloody family...

I hope you all enjoyed this one. Things should pick up their pace after this and be better written. Thank you all for everything. Keeps me writing :)

-HS