The Reichenbach Fall, Part 2
Amelia couldn't say that she was the slightest bit surprised as, later on that afternoon, once the trial had been ended for the day, she found herself leaning back against a high desk, watching as Sherlock filled out paper work for the return on his belongings, a slightly disgruntled expression on his face after having spent the past two hours stuck in a holding cell at the back of the court house, just simply because he couldn't help himself and had let his mouth run wild without any care for the warning that the judge had already given him several times before hand. Now, not only had he been thrown out of the room for the rest of the day, but he had also been banned from attended the rest of the court hearing.
John, on the other hand, was less then pleased with his flatmates childish behaviour as he stood beside Amelia with his arms crossed across his chest, looking off down the tiled hallway that lead to the holding cells, "What did I say?" he was saying in a flat, exasperated voice, "I said, 'Don't get clever'".
"I can't just turn it on and off like a tap," Sherlock replied, finishing signing his final signature with a irritated flourish of his wrist, pushing the paper towards the desk sergeant standing on the other side of the desk.
"He does have a point, John," Amelia cut in, earning a startled look from John, clearly having expected that she would be on his side. She couldn't blame him for assuming so, she did usually take John's side when it came to scolding Sherlock for his behaviour, but when it came to this, she had an understanding of just how hard it was not to blurt out things and tried to make an effort not to do so unless it had something to do with a case, though she had to admit that sometimes her mouth filter didn't work. That, and she knew exactly how annoying it was to be questioned like they had been, even she had very nearly slipped up and said something that could have had her spending two hours in one of the holding cells, so she really couldn't blame Holmes for letting his annoyance and mouth get the best of him.
"You're taking his side?" John blinked at her, surprised, "Again?"
"It must be a record," Sherlock remarked lightly, sounding almost amused as the desk sergeant handed him a plastic bag filled with his belongings that they had removed before sticking him in the cell. He immediately opened the bag and pulled out his phone, tucking it into his inner breast pocket of his blazer.
Amelia shrugged with a small smile on her face, "I can just sympathise with how hard it is not to say something sarcastic when you're up there, being asked all those annoying questions," she said, before throwing Sherlock a quick look, "And it's even harder when you don't bother to try and keep what you notice to yourself on a daily bases. I probably would have ended up in the same position had I not had more practice at controlling my own mouth".
Sherlock rolled his eyes slightly as he began to lead the way down the hallway, "I would hardly say that you have more control over what you say then I do," he shook his head back at her.
She raised her eyebrows at him, a smirk crossing his face, "Out of the two of us, which one just wasted two hours of their life sitting in a holding cell, Homes?" she shot back, her voice sounding sweet.
He cast her a quick look over his shoulder, realising that she had him there, and the triumphant glimmer in her eyes told him that she was well aware that she had won this round and was taking great pleasure in it. He huffed slightly, trying hard to ignore her expression as he glanced back to John, "Well?" he asked, sounding slightly more impatient then he had meant to.
John frowned at him, wondering if he was trying to get him to come to his defence against Amelia, though he highly doubted it. Both of them were too proud to ever try to get him to take one of their sides when they argued, which was one of the perks of being friends with them, he supposed. He never had to worry about having to choose a side, "Well what?" he questioned, confused.
"You were both there for the whole thing, up in the gallery, John, start to finish".
He nodded, realising that he was talking about the defending barrister, "Like you said it would be," he told him, "He sat on his backside, never even stirred".
"James isn't even bothering to try and defend himself," Amelia sighed, looking grim and very concerned as she meet Sherlock's eyes. Her brother was definitely up to something, and she didn't doubt that it wouldn't be very pleasant.
….
Battling through the press to try and get to the waiting police car was even worse than it had been that morning, and Amelia had been forced to be practically sandwiched between John and Sherlock with her head down and her sunglasses shielding her eyes from view, but even still, she had still felt as if she had been thrown into a blender with all the shoving and pushing that had been coming from each side of her, the police apparently having underestimated just how determined the press would be to try and get to the three of them.
Thankfully, they had soon reached the safety of the back of the police car and driven away from all the craziness back to Baker Street where only a small group of reporters had remade, waiting for their arrival. They quickly dashed past them and over to the front door, escaping inside to the peace and quiet that the thick brick walls provided from the shouting outside. Amelia was so grateful to be back somewhere that she felt safe and familiar that she felt half tempted to just sink down on the bottom step of the staircase, and close her eyes for a few minutes or, better yet, a few weeks.
Somehow, she managed to resist the temptation as she followed John and Sherlock up the stairs, slipping her sunglasses off and tucking them back inside her handbag as she stepped into the living room behind John, who was continuing their discussion from the police car.
"Bank of England," he was listing off, moving further into the room, "Tower of London, Pentonville. Three of the most secure places in the country and six weeks ago Moriarty breaks in, no-one knows how or why," he shook his head, sitting down in his armchair, while Sherlock began pacing back and forth between the coffee table and the fireplace, Amelia taking a seat on the sofa with a small sigh, "All we know is…" he went on, trailing off slightly.
"…he ended up in custody," Sherlock finished, and stopped pacing, glancing back to him with an expectant look.
John took a deep breath, "Don't do that," he said, shaking his head at his flatmate.
Amelia and Sherlock both frowned at him, confused, "Do what?" Sherlock questioned.
"The look," he informed them, casting Amelia a quick glance, adding, "Both of you".
"What look?" Amelia looked at him curiously, wondering what an Earth he was going on about. She hadn't thought she was pulling a face or looking at him any differently.
He sighed, looking back to them, "You're both doing the look again".
Sherlock continued to frown, glancing over to Amelia, who could only shrug, just as clueless as him. He turned back to John, "Well, neither Amelia nor I can see it, can we?" he narrowed his eyes at his flatmate, who simply waved a hand over to the mirror hanging over the fireplace mantle. He turned his head to look at his own reflection, Amelia feeling too comfortable after a long day to bother moving, "It's my face," he said, turning back to John, still very confused.
"Yes, and it's doing a thing, just like Amelia's".
"I haven't developed an eye twitch again, have I?" Amelia asked, only half joking as she quickly pulled her makeup compact out of her handbag and checked her reflection, but it seemed perfectly fine to her, though her makeup around her eyes had smudged slightly over the day and her lipstick could do with a fresh coat, there didn't seem to be anything wrong with her face.
John sighed, growing slightly exasperated as they both seemed to be completely clueless as to what he was trying to tell them, "You're both doing the 'we all know what's really going on here' faces," he clarified.
"Well, we do," Sherlock said simply, frowning at him, even more confused now.
"No. I don't, which is why I find you're expressions so annoying".
"Oh," Amelia said slowly, blinking at him as if it had only just occurred to her that John might not realise what was going on. She quickly gave him a apologetic look and sat forward in her seat, "It's really quite simple," she began, "If James really wanted to have the Crown Jewels, he would have simply have taken them".
"If he wanted those prisoners free, they'd be out on the streets," Sherlock added, nodding, "The only reason he's still in a prison cell right now is because he chose to be there," he turned away and started pacing once more as John considered what they had said, "Somehow this is a part of his scheme".
….
The trial continued on for another two days and still, the defending barrister refused to call any witness. Amelia and Sherlock remained behind at Baker Street while John attended, Sherlock due to his bane and Amelia due to not wishing to run into the press. Her relationship with James was headline news and the media certainly seemed to be having a ball with it, there had even been an article about it in the New York Times, much to Amelia's horror. It was bad enough that the United Kingdom couldn't seem to stop talking about it, let alone other countries.
She had been stuck inside for two days, desperately trying to avoid the windows and anything news related, which meant that her laptop, phone, and TV were practically off limits unless she was watching a movie. It was slowly driving her insane, not being able to go outside, and she even had to get Molly to do some grocery shopping for her after she had run out her stash of chocolate that she kept in case she felt moody. At this rate, she was going to be lucky to still be able to fit into a size UK ten and her rather poor attempt to stay fit by going for an early morning jog was out of the question for the time being, though she couldn't say that she was missing that too much. Exercising was painful enough, let alone trying to do it while having cameras flashing at you, and they always had to print the unflattering pictures of you. She was really starting to understand why celebrities ended up getting into fights with reporters after all the hounding she had received, and it had only been two days.
Amelia sighed, casting her eyes around her living and dining room, but there was nothing left for her to try and clean, she was finally caught up on all of her TV shows, and had even got around to going through her wardrobe to get rid of things she no longer wanted or wore. Perhaps, once things had settled down a bit, she would see if Molly wanted to keep anything before she sent the bags off to the local women's shelter, though she doubted it. Molly was far more comfortable in a cardigan then a Westwood dress, but it would still be fun. The last time she had cleaned out her wardrobe, she and Molly had had a couple of glasses of wine and spent the night playing dress ups like a couple of tipsy six year olds, Molly had even been tipsy enough to let Amelia give her a mini makeover. She had to admit, it really would be a nice distraction from what was going on to just have a fun girls night like that, they hadn't had one since she had started working with Sherlock, something she strongly suspected was due to Molly's probable fear that Sherlock might walk in and find them both sitting in ball gowns, watching some sappy, disgustingly romantic movie that Amelia would never ordinarily have watched without being half drunk, and she had to admit, that was quite likely to happen, too.
She smiled slightly to herself just thinking about what Sherlock's expression would be like, but her smile quickly faded as she found her eyes moving towards the clock. The judge was supposed to be giving his speech to the jury today to ask them for their final verdict on the accused, and while each second ticked by, she couldn't help feeling nervous and jittery. She longed to go outside and walk around the block, just to do something to keep her mind of thinking about it anymore then she already did, but her options were very limited, unless she decided to brave the reporters outside.
She sighed again and stood, making her way over to the door that lead out onto John and Sherlock's landing. She gave their living room door a quick knock before swinging it open, more out of habit then anything. Sherlock was sitting sideways on the sofa, staring off into space across the room with his blue dressing gown on over his regular clothing. His eyes flickered over to her as she quietly closed the door behind her.
"It must be a bad day for you, Amelia," he remarked, a hint of teasing in his tone as he took her appearance in. Her hair was up in a rather messy pony tail, no makeup, and she was just simply wearing a pair of old jeans and a jumper that had a small hole in the cuff of the right sleeve, "I hardly recognise you without a designer label in sight".
"My shoes are Converses," she pointed out, moving to take a seat in John's chair. She glanced down at herself and shrugged, "Even I have comfort clothes, Holmes. I've had this jumper since my first year at university," she smiled faintly, toying with the hole in the cuff.
"Yes, it looks like it".
She rolled her eyes, not in the slightest bit offended by his insult toward her jumper. Yes, it looked terribly shabby and she would never dream of wearing it anywhere outside Baker Street, but it carried a history with it that made it impossible for her to just get rid of it because of a few holes and a lose thread here and there. It had gone with her to university and it was still with her now, and she suspected that she would probably still have it if she got the chance to live into her eighties, "What can I say?" she said with another small shrug, looking back over to him, "I can be very sentimental at times, I even kept a small jar of rice from my wedding and a copy of the very first murder case I ever worked on".
"Sentiment will do you little good, Amelia," Sherlock told her, scoffing slightly as he rolled onto his back, pressing his hands together on top of his chest.
"It's worked for me thus far, Holmes. Besides, as you say, I can't turn it off and on like a tap".
His eyes flickered back over to her, and for a brief moment she thought he might smile, but her phone gave a loud ding and she instantly tensed. She had set her phone to alert her when it was time for the judge to give his speech and it seemed that the moment had finally come. She swallowed nervously, reaching inside her jeans pocket to check it quickly as Sherlock propped himself up on the arm of the sofa.
"Ladies and gentlemen of the jury," he began, reciting what he expected the judge to be saying at that very moment, "James Moriarty stands accused of several counts of attempted burglary, crimes which, if he is found guilty, will elicit a very long custodial sentence; and yet his legal team has chosen to offer no evidence whatsoever to support their plea. I find myself in the unusual position of recommending a verdict wholeheartedly. You must find him guilty," he slowly closed his eyes as Amelia took a deep breath, "Guilty…" he breathed, his eyes still closed, seeming to be almost savouring the word.
Amelia wasn't nearly as relaxed, knowing perfectly well that her brother would never have allowed himself to be caught unless it had something to do with a larger plan, and he certainly wouldn't allow himself to be put behind bars like this. No, there was more at work here then they realised, she was certain of that.
Several minute's past by in silence, until Sherlock's phone began ringing loudly, making Amelia jump, having already been sitting on the edge of her seat, as it was. Sherlock's eyes snapped open as he reached into his dressing gown pocket and pulled it out, putting it on speaker.
"Not guilty," John's voice came over, the sound of traffic coming from his end, as if he was outside, "They found him not guilty," Amelia sighed heavily, nodding to herself, completely unsurprised, "No defence, and Moriarty's walked free," he continued as Sherlock exchanged a long, grim look with Amelia, "Sherlock?" he called as no one made a sound, "Are you listening? He's out. You…you know that he'll be coming after you, maybe even Amelia. Sher…"
Sherlock ended the call with a click and stood, his eyes still on Amelia as she got onto her feet, too, somewhat surprised that her legs didn't feel as weak as she had expected them to at the news, "How does your brother take his tea?" he asked her, sounding very calm.
Amelia sighed and lifted a hand up to her forehead, unable to quite believe that they were both being so calm when they knew who was coming, "I haven't got a clue, Holmes".
He moved into the kitchen and hit the switch on the kettle to start boiling the water; while Amelia straightened the living room up a bit, though why she bothered she couldn't say, she just felt better when she was cleaning or tiding something when she was nervous. Soon enough, the kettle had finished boiling and Sherlock stepped back out with a tray with three tea cups on it, along with milk and sugar, sitting it down on the small table beside John's chair. He had taken the chance to switch his dressing gown for his blazer, and Amelia quickly pulled out hair out of its tie. It was still very messy and not up to her usual standard, but she was hardly doing it to impress her brother.
Uneasily, she moved to peer down at the street to see that the press had all disappeared, which was a welcome relief and to coincidental for her to not suspect that James might have had his hand in it. After all, he would hardly wish to be seen visiting Sherlock after this. She turned back around to see Sherlock lifting his violin up to rest below his chin as he calmly began to play Bach's 'Sonata No 1 in G minor,' and she couldn't help but feel slightly comforted by the familiar notes as she watched him play, his back turned to face the rest of the room. Something squeaked outside and he paused in his playing, both knowing that it was James, before he went on playing, picking up right from where he had left off.
Amelia tried very hard to keep her eyes on Sherlock's back as the living room door swung open with a creek, and Sherlock stopped playing again with a flourish of his wrist, lowering the bow slightly, still turned away to face the mirror over the mantle place, "Most people knock," he remarked, and shrugged, "But then you're not most people, I suppose," he lowered his violin and inhaled deeply, gesturing over towards where the tea tray was sitting, "Kettle's just boiled".
Amelia swallowed, her eyes fixed on James as he moved further into the room, resisting the urge to leave the room as she took a very small step back towards the window. She watched him for the slightest threatening move, not entirely sure what she would do even if he did show any sign of homicidal intent, but he seemed to be perfectly relaxed and calm as he stepped over to pluck a red apple out of a modern looking bowl sitting on the coffee table.
"Johann Sebastian would be appalled," James commented, tossing the apple in the air and catching it, his eyes coming to land on Amelia, "Amy," he greeted, giving her a smile that he knew she would find unsettling.
"James," Amelia said, forcing her voice to sound level.
He looked back around the room as if he was searching for a seat, "May I?" he asked Sherlock.
Sherlock finally turned around to face them, "Please," he used his bow to point at John's chair, but James ignored the offer and moved past him to take a seat in Sherlock's chair. Sherlock looked slightly unnerved, eyeing him warily out of the corner of his eye as he turned to place his violin down on a pile of books on the ground.
Amelia edged around where James was sitting, trying to make it seem causal as she moved to take a seat on the arm of John's chair as Sherlock began pouring the tea, and her nerves only worsened as she watched James pull out a penknife and start to cut into the apple. He really was trying to give her a stroke raising her blood presser like this, wasn't he?
"You know when he was on his death bed, Bach, he heard his son on at the piano playing one of his pieces," James told them, watching as Sherlock finished pouring tea into one cup, moving to pour tea into the second cup, "The boy stopped before he got to the end…"
"…and the dying man jumped out of his bed," Amelia and Sherlock cut in at the same time, both having heard the story hundreds of times, Amelia recalled a violin teacher who enjoyed telling the story whenever anything to do with Bach came up, "Ran straight to the piano and finished it".
"Couldn't cope with an unfished melody," James shook his head.
"You never have been able to, either," Amelia said, eyeing him carefully.
"That's why you've come," Sherlock agreed, finishing pouring the tea and adding a bit of milk into one of the cups.
"But be honest," James smiled up at Sherlock, "You're just a tiny bit pleased".
"What, with the verdict?" he asked, sitting the small milk jug down and picking up the cup, before turning and offering the cup to James.
James sat up straighter and took the cup, "With me…" his voice grew softer, "…back on the streets," he smirked up at Sherlock. Sherlock's expression remained carefully blank as Amelia looked between them, "Every fairytale needs a good old-fashioned villain," his smirk turned into a grin as Sherlock turned away to add milk into Amelia's cup, "You need me, or you're nothing," he continued, lifting his tea cup up to his mouth, "Because we're alike, you and I, except you're boring," he shook his head in disappointment, casting Amelia a quick, slightly mocking look, "You're on the side of the angels".
Amelia raised her eyebrows at him, "I would hardly call myself an angel," she said, accepting her own tea cup from Sherlock with a nod.
"Not when you were in school, true," James agreed, giving her a knowing look as Amelia felt the back of her neck warm slightly, but she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of letting him know that his words had any effect on her.
"I was eighteen and had money, of course I went out clubbing," she defended herself, shrugging, knowing what he was implying, "I had fun, partied more then I probably ought to have and I will freely admit that I was very self-absorbed and basically, acted just like any other rich teenage girl, but I cleaned up my act after Dad died. I wasn't that bad, I'm sure you were doing far worse things than getting drunk in clubs and having one night stands with complete strangers," she said with cool tone of voice.
She might have been parting too hard and not studying as much as she probably should have been, but at least she wasn't building a criminal empire like she suspected James had been doing during his free time at that age.
Sherlock cleared his throat slightly, stirring his own tea cup, "Got to the jury, of course," he cut in, trying to change the subject, knowing just how easily it was for two siblings to get into a fight, and right now they had more important things to be discussing then how much of a wild child the teenage Amelia might have been. It was almost frightening to imagine just how much more high maintenance an eighteen year old Amelia must have been.
"I got into the Tower of London, you think I can't worm my way into twelve hotel rooms?" James raised his eyebrows at him, sitting his cup back in its saucer.
"Cable network," he muttered, rolling his eyes at himself for not making the connection sooner as he unbuttoned his blazer with one hand and sat down in his chair.
"Of course," Amelia nodded slowly, taking a sip of tea. It made perfect sense and was quite clever, she had to admit.
"Every hotel bedroom has a personalised TV screen…" James explained, smirking to himself, no doubt thinking about the people he had threatened and possibly even kidnapped to archive his freedom, "And every person has their pressure point, someone that they want to protect from harm," his eyes flickered between them both as he lifted his cup up to his mouth, "Easy-peasy".
"So how're you going to do it…" Sherlock looked at him carefully, pointedly blowing lightly on his tea, "…burn me?" he finished, not taking his eyes off the man sitting before him.
"Oh, that's the problem, the final problem," he said softly, still smirking, "Have you worked out what it is yet?" Sherlock took a sip of his tea as Amelia narrowed her eyes slightly at James, "What's the final problem?" his smirk turned into a mocking smile over the top of his cup, "I did tell you…" his voice turned sing-song, "…but did you listen?" he took a mouthful of tea and lowered his cup back down onto it's saucer, moving to rest his hand on his knee as he began drumming his fingers for a moment, drawing both Amelia and Sherlock's attention for a second. It almost seemed to have pattern to it, though Amelia didn't recognise it as any tune she had heard, "How hard do you find it to say, 'I don't know'?" he asked Sherlock.
Sherlock put his cup down on its saucer and shrugged, "I dunno," he replied causally, placing his cup back on the tray beside him.
"Oh, that's clever; that's very clever…" he chuckled, putting on an accent that instantly reminded Amelia of their Father's upper class accent, "Awfully clever…" he dropped the accent as Sherlock smiled tightly, looking away from him as he pressed is hands together, "Speaking of clever, have you told you're little friends yet?" he asked, his eyes flickering over to Amelia.
"Told them what?" he questioned calmly, not giving away what he truly thought or felt. Amelia struggled to maintain a neutral expression, not having needed Sherlock to tell her. She had worked it out easily on her own.
"Why I broke into those places and never took anything".
"No".
"But you understand?" James raised his eyebrows at him, cutting a sliver of his apple with his knife.
"Obviously," Sherlock nodded.
"What about you, Amy?" he focused his attention on Amelia, putting the piece of apple into his mouth with the flat side of his knife.
"Of course," Amelia confirmed, fighting to keep her face blank, though she suspected that it would do little good when it came to James. They had grown up together, after all, he could probably read her like a book.
He turned his focus back on Sherlock, "Off you go, then," he told him with a nod.
"You want me to tell you what you already know?" Sherlock asked, raising his eyebrows at the other man sitting before him.
"No, I want you to prove that you know it".
"You never took anything because you have no need to," Amelia answered, keeping her eyes fixed on his.
"Good," James nodded approvingly, his voice soft.
"You'll never need to take anything ever again," Sherlock added, his hand still pressed together in front of his mouth.
"Very good. Because…?"
"Because nothing…nothing in the Bank of England, the Tower of London or Pentonville Prison could possibly match the value of the key that could get you into all three".
"I can open any door anywhere with a few lines of computer code," James agreed, smirking slightly as he shook his head, "No such thing as a private bank account now, they're all mine. No such thing as secrecy, I own secrecy," Amelia inwardly winced at the very idea of just what havoc he could cause, "Nuclear codes, I could blow up NATO in alphabetical order. In a world with locked rooms, the man with the key is king, and honey, you should see me in a crown," he smiled, seeming delighted with himself.
"That's why you allowed yourself to be caught," Amelia said slowly, the pieces finally falling into place of just why James would let himself be caught so easily, "It was all just for show so that you would have a nice, highly media covered platform for you to advertise to the rest of the world just what you're capable of doing".
"Is that a hint of admiration in your tone, dear sis?" he grinned over at her, raising an eyebrow.
Her expression grew hard as she met his eyes, "I admire the intelligence, not the criminal intent, James," she replied coldly, seeing no reason to pretend as if she wasn't impressed by just how clever his entire plan had been, but that didn't mean that she liked his reasoning for doing it.
"You should both be proud," he remarked, still grinning at them both, "You helped," Amelia and Sherlock exchanged a very quick, unsettled look, realising that they had helped him without even realising what they had been doing. They had both been fooled, "Big client list," he continued, "Rogue governments, intelligence communities…terrorist cells," he shook his head, "They all want me," he lifted another slice of apple up to his mouth on the edge of the knife, "Suddenly, I'm Mr Sex".
"And I feel ill," Amelia muttered, grimacing as he ate the slice of apple, smirking at them.
"If you could break any bank, what do you care about the highest bidder?" Sherlock frowned at him, narrowing his eyes slightly as the sound of James chewing the apple loudly echoed around the room.
"I don't," James said, shrugging, "I just like watching them all competing. 'Daddy loves me the best!'" he smirked mockingly, "Aren't ordinary people adorable? Well, you know," he focused on Sherlock, "You've got John. I should get myself a live-in one," his eyes drifted away from them, as if he was actually imagining it.
Sherlock eyed him carefully, "Why are you doing all of this?" he questioned, his voice low.
"It'd be so funny…" he continued, still thinking about what it would be like to have a 'live-in' one, seeming to be ignoring Sherlock.
"You don't want money or power, not really," he shook his head, not taking his gaze off the other man as Amelia noticed James's stab his knife into the apple, "What is it all for?"
James sat forward in his chair, leaning towards them as he looked directly at Sherlock, "I want to solve the problem, our problem," he told him softly, almost looking sympathetic, "The final problem," he lowered his head and shook his head slightly, "It's going to start very soon, Sherlock, the fall," he raised his head and whistled a slowly descending note as, at the same time, he lowered his gaze back down towards the floor, "But don't be scared. Falling's just like flying, except there's a more permanent destination," he said, and as his gaze hit the floor he made a thud sound as if something had hit the floor. He looked back up and glared at Sherlock, clearly sending a message.
Sherlock bared his teeth slightly and stood, re-buttoning his blazer as Amelia swallowed nervously, really not liking the expression on her brother's face, "Never liked riddles," Sherlock commented calmly, maintaining eye contact with the other man.
James stood, too, straightening his own blazer, "Learn to," he said, not looking away from him, "Because I owe you a fall, Sherlock. I…owe…you".
A long, tense moment passed between them as James kept his gaze locked on Sherlock, making sure that he knew that he was serious, before he turned and slowly began to walk out of the room, barely even looking at Amelia as he disappeared out onto the landing, his footsteps going down the steps sounding a second later.
Amelia released a breathe that she had been holding and her shoulders slumped, suddenly feeling as if she could very happily curl up in a ball in her bed for the next month. She looked back to Sherlock to see him picking up the penknife that James had left behind on the arm of the chair, stuck into the bottom the apple. He lifted it up and slowly turned it around to show that the letters 'I,' 'O,' and 'U' had been carved into the apple's flesh, forming his final promise: 'I O U'. Sherlock looked back to Amelia, who was staring at the message, before she slowly meet his eyes. His mouth twitched very slightly, knowing that the game was on.
I apologise for not having this chapter up as soon as I expected, but my first week of my school holidays were quite a lazy one when writing is concerned and I've only just found the motivation to start writing now that I only have a week left before going back. Anyway, the next chapter is almost completely finished and I know that this chapter is a bit shorter than normal, but I really wanted to cover the kidnapping case in one chapter, so expect for a long update next time. I hope you liked it, tell me what you thought. Please review :)
