Author's Note

I am so sorry for the delay. I intended to post this over a week ago but my computer was at PC World. I'm not convinced it's fixed so when the next update will be is anyone's guess. I do not intend to abandon this piece but another update will be impossible without a fully functioning computer. Apologies.

Chapter Eleven

Watson's well deserved peace and quiet lasted all but a quarter of an hour when an angry shout came from the kitchen. It seemed someone had burnt a hole in Mrs Hudson's frying pan and judging by the sudden faint movement in Amelia's room Watson grinned to himself knowing exactly who was at fault. Quick footsteps ascended the staircase and Mrs Hudson entered the sitting room holding the frying pan with a large hole burnt through it. Watson couldn't suppress the snort of laughter,

"Which one of them is responsible for this doctor?" Her eyes fell upon Holmes who was still dead to the world, "You and Mr. Holmes were out this morning, weren't you?" Watson silently confirmed this, "Amelia!" She shouted as she preceded to her room. Amelia had hidden in a shadowy corner under her bed and hearing Mrs Hudson enter she remained as still as possible and held her breath. The landlady seemed to give up but Amelia didn't chance coming out just yet.

Amelia had spent the night under her bed, paranoid that Mrs Hudson would get her revenge she hardly slept at all, leaving dark circles under her eyes and cobwebs in her hair. Pulling herself from under the bed she stretched and heard a women's voice issuing from the sitting room. She cocked her head in confusion, she did not recognise the speaker. The women's accent wasn't local, it sounded American perhaps.

"I am Irene Adler again." She let a frown spread across her face. She'd heard of Miss Adler and her current line of work. Although Amelia couldn't judge Irene since the ten-year-old herself was a former pickpocket she couldn't help feel impressed when Watson had told her what had happened with the King of Bohemia.

"Why are you always so suspicious?"

"Would you like me to answer chronologically or alphabetically?" If only Miss Adler still worked as opera singer then Amelia might look up to her. Walking into the hall Amelia witnessed Irene exiting the room and her gaze fell upon the ten-year-old.

"Good morning Miss Adler." Coldness etched clearly into her tone. Irene's eyes swept over Amelia's unruly cobwebbed hair, which was now so tangled she was nervous that Mrs Hudson would attack it with a brush as punishment for her frying pan, to her hardened expression. The women smirked at the younger's appearance,

"And to you young lady." And made her way down the stairs. Amelia watched her go from the top of the stairs, Holmes almost collided into her in his haste,

"Holmes, what are you doing?"

"Nothing." He said. It was so obvious he was lying that Amelia snorted.

"Are you wearing a-"

"False nose? No." And jumped out of the window. A crashing sound told her that Holmes must have gone through the roof he landed on, it was starting to creak under her own weight. Watson looked unconcerned as he closed the window.

"That was Irene Adler wasn't it?" Amelia said to Watson, he frowned up at her and she shrugged.

"I heard them from my room. What does it mean when she said the Grande hotel gave them their old room?" Watson seemed to stiffen but a smirk was on his face.

"Never you mind." He said, settling himself in his chair and picking up a letter from the table next to him. Picking up her book she turned to Watson,

"Just going to my room." She said, Watson looked at her suspiciously,

"Make sure that's all you do. No trying to get out…or fires!" She snorted and rolled her eyes. It made her look more like Holmes when she did that. It was about ten minutes later when Holmes himself returned. His eyes scanned the room quickly,

"Where's Amy?"

"Room." Watson said not looking up from his paper. Holmes returned a few seconds later holding Amelia's upper arm,

"Call me old-fashioned but I prefer a simple hello." She said irritably. Holmes said nothing dropping her arm and started cleaning the muck he had on his face.

"Look at you." Watson said surveying Holmes' back, "Why is the only women you've ever cared about a world class criminal? Are you a masochist?" Amelia giggled.

"Allow me to explain-" Holmes began but was interrupted by Watson.

"Allow me. She's the only adversary to have outsmarted you. Twice."

"By the sounds of it she made a right fool of you." Amelia added. Holmes wasn't impressed.

"Right you've had your fun." Holmes said firmly but both Watson and Amelia weren't done yet.

"What she after anyway?"

"What could she possibly need?"

"An alibi? A beard?"

"A human canoe? She could sit on your back and paddle you up the Thames."

"Well it's no consequence to you is it really, Watson. We've finished our last case together." He picked the envelope that Watson had already read.

"Missing person. Luke Reordan. Four foot ten, red hair and lacks his two front teeth. Case solved! You're obviously not her type. She likes ginger dwarves."

"I'm four foot four." Amelia said shortly. Holmes had taken off the yellow scarf around his neck and threw towards her, who tied it around her middle.

"Midget." Holmes said. Amelia glared at him.

"So you agree?" Watson asked incredulously. Amelia sat on the floor glaring sullenly at it and playing with the tassels of the scarf. A stream of thoughts started running through her head, muddled and confused,

"…or you'll see the bottom of the Thames before Prince Edward becomes King…That would defeat the object…Fugitive escapes from Pentonville prison…I SAY, I THINK I'VE GOT IT!" She said jumping up only to realise she had said the last sentence out loud.

"Got what?" She spun on the spot to face Watson, a confused expression on his face. She spotted Clarky, in front of them, equally as confused. Holmes, now sat in the chair next Watson, was smirking,

"Sorry to interrupt your train of thought, my girl. Carry on Clarky." She screwed up her eyes.

"It's Lord Blackwood, sir. It appears…well he's arisen from the grave." Amelia's eyes snapped open and turned her head so fast she felt the blood rush to her head.

"…People can escape their fates."

She felt sick and the colour drained from her face. She turned to Holmes and Watson. She felt an odd feeling, of pleasure that she was right in her assumption and that of nervous that Lord Blackwood was a magical mad man. She hastily placed herself closer to Watson, he did used to serve in the army after all. She allowed herself to be lead out by Holmes and into the carriage. She cringed into Holmes as they made their way to the graveyard. Amelia had always hated graveyards although her mother had found them interesting. Shadowing Holmes closely she scanned the area quickly. Lestrade's men were scattered around the area. Amelia started to half mumble and half sing the first song that came to her mind. Holmes glanced down at her. He recognised the rhyme as the one she was playing with her friends yesterday. He noted the elevated pitch of her voice and that she faltered on the last two lines.

"What of the coffin?" Holmes addressed Lestrade.

"We are in the process of bringing it up now." Amelia glanced at the men in front of her,

"What stage of the process, Inspector? Contemplative?" Lestrade glared at her and she gave him a half-hearted smirk. Watson went off the see the witness who saw Blackwood and Holmes started licking the sandstone that lay on the ground.

"What tastes can you pick out from this?" Amelia turned to him and picked up a stone,

"Dirt." Came the flat reply.

"Anything helpful?" She licked the stone again,

"Erm…Honey?" Holmes frowned but nodded. The coffin had been brought up and Watson had begun to open it and Amelia turned her face away,

"Good lord." Amelia turned, the coffin did not contain Blackwood but a man with red hair. The sickness in her stomach seemed to multiply and she let out an involuntary whimper,

"That's not Blackwood." There was a few moments pause,

"It seems your eyes are open and your ears are working but alas your brain has long since departed." The Inspector glared at her which she returned. She knew she was being exceptionally rude but she didn't care. Holmes looked up at her, he knew as time passed she becoming more distressed and she beginning to act out of character. She rarely spoke in front of Lestrade let alone to him.

"Do you have a pen?" He asked and felt that the deceased had no front teeth, he gave it to Watson, since he was unable to lift his upper lip.

"Adler's dwarf." Watson said. Holmes felt Amelia shuffle closer to him. He had reason to believe that she knew of Blackwood's intent. She wasn't an imbecile after all. Amelia frowned; if this was Adler's midget who was now in Blackwood's coffin and dead then she thought that either Blackwood had a grudge against him or he had worked for him and had served his purpose, thus making him a dispensable part of his plans. Whatever they may be. She relayed this information back to Holmes once they'd finished in the graveyard and stayed silent for most of the rest of their trip back. Holmes and Watson had stopped talking long enough for Amelia to voice her idea on what she had thought about this morning,

"I know." She said simply and Holmes immediately understood. She knew about Blackwood's intent. Well the part which included her anyway, "But what I don't understand is why you never told me. I'm not an invalid, Holmes." She stated matter-o-factly and finished the rhyme she had faltered on earlier,

"Here comes a candle to light you to bed,

And here comes a chopper to chop off your head!"