Hidden Truths

by loulouflowerpower

Sherlock/OC-Moriarty's final game is not yet over, but while Sherlock Holmes and Amelia Wilson work to try and uncover his final puzzle, life as they know it changes. A sudden death causes a rift between old friends and buried secrets are forced to light. Can they work to overcome it? Or is this truly the end?

3. Chapter 3 The Six Thatchers, Part 3

The Six Thatchers, Part 3

For once in her life, Amelia Wilson could say with absolute certainty that she was finally content and happy with how her life was currently playing out. When was the last time she felt this pleased with her own life, this free? She thought that the last time must have been when she was still just a child, before her mother had died and their family had become something of a shadow of what it once was, at least when her mother had still lived James had made an effort to pretend to be a mostly normal brother, her father hadn't worked practically every single day and driven himself into an early grave, and Amelia could just be a kid. But that changed with her mother's death and Amelia had found herself forced to grow-up. Her adolescents had not been a smooth one. It wasn't something she thought about often now days, she was far from proud of the person she had been back then, but now…now she could say that she was proud of herself.

Her life might not have quite turned out how she might have expected it to, but it was somehow so much better for it. She loved her friends, there wasn't anything she wouldn't do for them, even Mycroft could be counted as being amongst them now…when he wasn't being his usual, condescending self. She had found something of a family in them all now, Molly and Mary had become like the sister's she had always wanted and John was the brother she had always wished James could have been, Lestrade…he was kind of like a mixture of a favourite cousin and a older brother, and then there was the Holmes family. Mr and Mrs Holmes were always so kind and warm towards her, she thought that Mrs Holmes probably spoke to her more then she spoke to her own sons these days, while Mycroft still could be by far one of the most annoying people Amelia knew, she admired his commitment to his family. And then Sherlock…they were in a great place, she loved him and while he might not have said it again since the first time, she knew where she stood with him, she thought that she probably would have felt suffocated if he had suddenly began throwing 'I love you' around all the time. She was a sentimentalist, yes, but she also believed that words lost their meaning if used to often.

Amelia couldn't help feeling just a little of edge, despite how happy she was, waiting for the next explosion to come and stir up trouble. Surely this feeling couldn't last? Her brother's final game still hung over their heads and she and Sherlock still remained clueless about what it might be, but she was going to try and enjoy the peace for the time being, humming to herself a tune she had heard on the radio pumping through the supermarket speaker system, carrying two bags as she made her way up to the front door of Baker Street, the afternoon sun bright overhead as she managed to fish her key out of her blazer pocket and slipped it into the lock. She continued humming to herself as she made her way upstairs, pushing the living room door open to find Sherlock sitting in his favoured chair, looking thoughtful as he gazed off into the distance, his fingertips pressed together and poised beneath his chin.

She lifted an eyebrow at the sight of him not glued to his phone, dropping the bags down on the clean coffee table, eyeing him curiously. Sherlock remained completely motionless, his pale blue eyes not even flickering up to her as she crossed the room and, without so much as pausing, casually sat down on his lap, swinging her legs up over the top of the armrest with a cheeky smirk on her face, wrapping her arms around his neck. That did get his attention, making him blink and finally seem to come back to reality, giving her a mildly annoyed look.

"I think you've confused me for a chair, Amelia," he told her, his tone carrying a hint of his exasperation as he lowered his hands, his left falling on top of her bare knees, while the other came to rest on the armrest behind her back, her free hair tickling his hand.

"I would never be so careless, Holmes," she replied easily, slowly, and very deliberately, snaking her right hand down from around his neck, letting her touch linger on his neck and past the collar of his white shirt, until her red polished fingertips found the second button of his shirt, toying with it lightly.

He sighed, fixing her with a small glare, "Amelia…"

"Yes?" she asked innocently, smirking as she leaned closer to him, her red lips pressing a feather light kiss to the side of his pale throat. His exasperated expression remained firmly in place as she drew back slightly, though the way that his heart rate had increased, his pupils dilating, and the very tiniest intake in breath told her that he was not nearly as unbothered by what she was doing then he might wish for her to think.

Sherlock caught her eyes and gave her a warning look, his eyes narrowing, "What are you doing?" he almost demanded.

"Seducing you, obviously. And it seems to be working, if you can't even deduce that".

"It's the middle of the day…"

She laughed, pressing another lingering kiss to his throat, before pressing another slightly higher, edging closer to his jaw, leaving red lipstick stains behind on his pale flesh, "So stop me," she said with a hint of challenge, her breath ghosting across his skin, and she smirked triumphantly as his hand tightened over her knee, "Unless you don't want to…" she continued in a sing-song tone, drawing back enough to give him a wicked smile.

Sherlock scowled darkly, his expression telling her that he certainly wasn't going to stop her, though he wasn't going to actually admit it aloud. To anyone else who might have walked into the living room and caught sight of the look he was giving her, they might have thought he was truly upset with her, his entire body seemed to be held tightly, the side of his neck littered by several lipstick stains, stark against his flesh, while her finger continued to ideally toy and twist the button on his shirt. Amelia merely lifted an eyebrow at him, her other hand lightly fiddling with the small hairs at the back of his neck, their faces three inches apart, though she had no intention of being the one to close the distance. She might have started this, but she was still going to expect him to play along.

"Amelia," he said with a forced firmness to his tone, his carefully controlled mask firmly in place, "We have work to do".

Amelia sighed loudly, rolling her eyes, "Sherlock, we always have work to do," she reminded him, privately wondering whether or not she had ever had a boyfriend in the past who had been able to resist her charms like he seemed to be able to do. She could tell that he was trying very hard not to give in, fighting back against the urge to submit to his basic desires and the emotions she was stirring in him, but even Sherlock Holmes could only resist for so long, he was only human, after all. She leaned even closer to him, brushing her nose against his, but she refrained from kissing him still, "And we're here, all by ourselves…I'm not suggesting we take off to Paris".

His eyes fluttered closed, her breath hitting his lips and she smirked widely to herself as she watched him lick them, the hand on her knee squeezing her tightly, while he only seemed to tense even more, as though fearing that if he allowed himself to relax, he wouldn't be able to stop from closing the distance between them. Oh, he was good at hiding it, but at the end of the day, he was a man. She laughed softly, daring to gently undo the button on his shirt, watching as his eyes snapped open and he fixed her with another attempt at a glare, though he still made little move to actually stop her. If he had really been trying to resist, he could have very easily simply rolled his eyes and picked her up, dumping her onto the sofa before going back to his thinking. He had done that once, just as they had first started trying to make this whole thing work and she had playfully sat on his lap, just to see how he might react. She had cracked up laughing and called him a 'tease' back then, but things had progressed quite significantly since then.

"Amelia, behave," he muttered, his lips barely moving as he kept his gaze intently fixed on her eyes, far to intently, if Amelia had to deduce, trying to prevent his own eyes from wondering, "Lestrade called while you were out," he went on, apparently still trying to ignore the way that her hand on his chest slowly slipped down, twisting the third button with a smirk on her lips, "He wants to see us tomorrow, apparently he thinks he's got just the sort of case we've been waiting for".

"Good," she said softly, her eyes on his as she undid the button, "I certainly look forward to it, Holmes, but…what does that have to do with today?" she lifted an eyebrow, bringing her face closer to his, her lips so close to his own, that he had to feel her own touching his as she said, "After all, that's tomorrows concern".

"I thought you would be more interested in solving the cases we already have, you did seem stressed about having clients waiting".

"We'll get to them," Amelia said carelessly, biting her lip very slightly. She almost laughed as his eyes did flicker down to her own lips at the gesture, before swiftly lifting back up to her gaze, "You can take the triple homicide off the list," she added with a cheeky smile, her hand pushing aside his shirt, splaying her hand against his firm chest. He couldn't quite hide the intake of breath at the touch. She lowered to a whisper, pressing her mouth to the corner of his mouth, "I solved it. There was a line at the checkout".

Sherlock released a sharp exhale, rolling his eyes, "Oh, for God's sake…" he huffed, right before he suddenly wrapped his right hand around her waist and tugged her closer to him, his lips firmly meeting hers.

Amelia smiled into the kiss, her fingernails scraping against his chest very slightly as she used her hand at the back of his neck to draw him even closer to her, his curls silky soft between her fingers. She took a shuddering breathe of air as he released her lips, only to press them against her throat, just as she had to him, only with more instance and hunger. She hoped he wouldn't leave a mark, she was too old to be trying to cover up love bites, but she couldn't bring herself to be overly concerned by it as she tilted her head back slightly to let him have more access, her hands tugging at his hair.

"I knew…that would get you," she laughed breathlessly, grabbing his chin and bringing his head back up to her, kissing him hard. Yes, she was very happy, indeed.

….

The next day, just before five o'clock in the afternoon, found Amelia sitting perched on the armrest of Sherlock's chair, while the curly haired detective sat in the seat beside her, back to his thinking as he sat with his fingers steepled together beneath his chin and with his camel dressing gown over his day clothing. She lightly tapped her black Louboutin heels on the floor, her legs bare as her white Gucci dress stopped just above her knees, a navy blue and red strip running around the waist, while a navy strip ran around the sleeves that came to her elbows, delicate gold and pearl buttons running along the cotton sleeves, matching her pearl studs. Her hair was pulled back in a French twist, while her polished nails lightly toyed with one of her earrings, her kohl rimmed eyes casting the open living door a slightly impatient look, waiting for Lestrade and John, who Sherlock had informed her once they had…finished, would also be joining them, since Mary had apparently given her okay. Finally, just on five, Lestrade's footsteps sounded on the stairs outside, and he appeared on the landing, peering into the living room to see them. Amelia lifted an eyebrow at him, her foot stilling.

"I'm not late am I?" Lestrade asked, frowning slightly as he checked his wristwatch, clearly picking up on Amelia's impatience.

"No," she shook her head, giving him a small smile, "Just very curious to hear about the case you have for us, Sherlock said you thought it was just what we'd been looking for," she nodded her head absently towards Sherlock, who didn't move an inch.

Lestrade went to reply, his eyes flickering towards Sherlock, but the sound of the front door downstairs closing caught both his and Amelia's attention. Footsteps sounded on the stairs, footsteps Amelia recognised easily as John's, just before the man himself came into view as he reached the top of the stairs, smiling slightly to himself and with a slight flush to his cheeks. She eyed him curiously, noting the way that his hand seemed to unknowingly touch his inner breast pocket where she knew he usually kept his phone. It was just a small brush of his hand; he might have been just brushing some lent off his jacket, but then why did he have that little smile on his lips and that faint pink hue to his cheeks. Something about it made her feel on edge, though she couldn't place her finger on what, exactly.

"Hey," Lestrade greeted him with a smile.

"Afternoon," John nodded, stepping into the living room. He gave Amelia a warm smile, which she returned, before shaking his head faintly at Sherlock's lack of acknowledgement, turning back to Lestrade, "Sherlock says you've got a good one, Greg".

"Oh, yeah," he agreed, his smile growing grim, though he seemed quite confidant.

"So let's hear it," Amelia said eagerly, "Sit down, and do tell us all about it," she gestured to the dining table chair, which seemed to almost always be left sitting out these days, facing the fireplace.

John settled himself comfortably in his old armchair, while Lestrade took a seat in the dining chair, clearing his throat, "It was David Welsborough's fiftieth birthday," he began as they listened intently, slipping a small notebook out of his pocket, flipping it open, "They threw a big birthday party at their country home, when during the early hours of the party, Mr Welsborough received a Skype call from their eldest son, Charlie. He was supposed to be out of the country, travelling around Tibet, and so he wasn't able to attend the party himself. Mr Welsborough stated that during the call, Charlie was having some signal issues, and they ended up losing the picture, but they could still hear one another…" Amelia frowned vaguely at that, eyeing Lestrade closely as he glanced at his notes, "During the brief conversation, Charlie asked his father to go outside and take a picture of a Power Ranger figuring stuck to the bonnet of Charlie's car, which was parked outside in the drive, trying to win a bet. Mr Welsborough went outside and took the photo, sending it to his son, but his son didn't reply back. He didn't hear back from Charlie at all after that call," he sighed heavily, looking back up to them, his expression growing grim, "A week later…"

"Yeah?" John prompted him as Lestrade trailed off. Amelia was still frowning, her eyes narrowed slightly on Lestrade.

He glanced between John and Amelia, "Something really weird happens," he told them, making Sherlock smile, his eyes closed. Amelia shot him a quick glance out of the corner of her eye, once again finding herself wishing she could peer into his mind…, "Drunk driver," he continued, pulling Amelia's attention back onto him, "He's totally smashed, the cops are chasing him, and he turns into the drive of the Welsborough house to try and get away. Unfortunately…" he grimaced slightly, "He ended up crashing straight into the back of Charlie's car. The crash must have broken the fuel line, because the next thing that happened was Charlie's car exploded in fireball…" Amelia winced slightly, though Lestrade wasn't finished with his story yet, "The drunk guy survived, they managed to pull him out, but when they put the fire out and examined the parked car…they found a body sitting in the driver's seat, or what was left of it".

Amelia blinked slightly, not having quite expected that, though it did make things rather interesting. Thoughtfully, she lightly tapped her fingers of her right hand on top of her knee, her legs crossed as she eyed Lestrade, considering everything he had told them thus far. It was obvious that something strange was going on with the Welsborough's son, Charlie; something about the whole Skype call didn't make sense to her. Why did the boy get his father to go out, during the night and during his own birthday party, just to take a picture of some toy stuck to the bonnet of his car? For a bet? That seemed a little odd to her, now if it was some sort of surprise, like the boy would suddenly jump out from behind the car or something, it would make more sense to her. Or…perhaps she was just trying to make this whole thing more clever then it ought to be, and the boy truly had been just trying to win a bet. But then there was the mysterious body, how did that fit?

John leaned forward in his chair towards Lestrade, "Whose body?" he asked curiously, taking the words out of Amelia's mouth.

Lestrade looked at him, his expression grave, "Charlie Welsborough, the son".

He actually recoiled in his seat from him in confusion, "What?" he stared at him, startled, while Amelia sat up straighter, holding back the urge to make an 'Ooh,' noise, her mind positively buzzing. The body in the car being Charlie actually made a lot of sense, given what her mind had first jumped to.

"The son who was in Tibet," he nodded, his expression almost matching John's, "DNA all checks out. The night of the party, the car's empty, then a week later the dead bodies found at the wheel," Sherlock, his eyes still closed, laughed, his face full of delight as Amelia settled on smiling very faintly, her own enjoyment of the case slightly tarnished by the knowledge that a young man had died. Lestrade glanced at them, looking far from surprised by their reactions, "Yeah, I thought it'd tickle you," he commented with a pointed look at Sherlock.

"You were quite right about this being an excellent case, Lestrade," Amelia said softly, giving him a pleased look, her mouth still slightly turned up at the corner of her red lips, "Of course, it's also rather horrible that someone so young, only just starting out in life, ended up dying, but…still, it should be very promising".

"Well, I'm glad you like it," he muttered, shaking his head slightly, because of course only Sherlock Holmes or Amelia Wilson would find the idea of a murder something enjoyable.

"Have you got a lab report?" John asked, seeming to have recovered from his previous shock.

"Yeah," he nodded with a glance over towards John, before reaching for his briefcase, which had placed on the floor by his chair. He pulled it up onto his lap and flipped the black leather flap open, reaching inside it, "Charlie Welsborough's the son of a Cabinet minister…" he explained, and John made a silent 'Oh' with his lips, nodding in understanding as Lestrade fished out a cream coloured folder, "…so I'm under a lot of pressure to get results".

Amelia smiled sympathetically, though inwardly she found herself feeling quite lucky, once again reminded strongly why she hadn't gone into the police force all those years ago when she had first considered it. The idea of having to follow everything by the book, wait for the right paperwork and warrants to come in just to check through someone's rubbish, constantly having to report back to those older and more senor then you, even if they were complete idiots without any idea about investigating a crime scene properly. No, she so wouldn't have made it through her first day of training, and aside from that, the uniforms. Really not her style, she wouldn't be able to wear her heels. Private detective work might not have been exactly all that she had hoped for when she had first started out, but it was a massive improvement on being in the police in her mind.

Sherlock's eyes snapped open, narrowing slightly; "Who cares about that?" he scoffed slightly, earning himself a mildly exasperated look from Lestrade. He didn't even seem to notice, staring thoughtfully over the top of John's head, "Tell me about the seats".

"The seats?" John frowned, giving him a confused look, accepting a sheet of paper that Lestrade handed him from within the folder.

"Yes. The cars seats".

"Ah, right…" Amelia nodded slowly to herself, giving the side of Sherlock's face a thoughtful look. She thought she understood what he wanted to check, and it would certainly fit with her own theory about the boy having merely been intending to surprise his father during his birthday party, only for the boy to end up somehow dying before he could do so, his body remaining undisturbed in the car until being discovered in the wreckage of the fire, because how else was it possible for Charlie's body to be in the car if it hadn't already been there the entire time? The only real question in her mind, right now, was whether or not the boy had been murdered, and if so why? His father's position? Debts? Or was it something less sinister and just a tragic accident? She turned her gaze back onto John and Lestrade, finding them both eyeing her curiously, "The forensics in regards to the seats could be very telling, in fact, I think it might just confirm how Charlie's body ended up in the car in the first place".

Lestrade regarded her dubiously, "What, from the car seats?" he said, holding the file out towards them, Sherlock plucking it out of his hand and flipping it open.

She sighed slightly, giving him a look, though she refined from saying anything as she peered over the top of Sherlock's arm, her eyes quickly moving down the forensic report, quickly finding the results of a sample that was taken from the burnt remains of the driver's seat. She almost smiled in victory at the report's findings, feeling rather pleased with herself that her theory seemed to be only growing more credible with the evidence presented before them.

"Made of vinyl…" Sherlock read the report, his eyebrows lifting very slightly, "Two different types of vinyl present," his eyes flickered up from the report and he glanced at Amelia, who smiled very faintly. He rolled his eyes slightly, as though he could see how smug she was feeling, though even he couldn't quite hide the very slight upturn of the corners of his lips, before his expression cleared and he looked back across to Lestrade, fixing him with a thoughtful look, holding the file back out to him, "Was it his own car?"

"Yeah," Lestrade replied, taking the folder back from Sherlock, slipping it back inside his briefcase, "He was a student".

"Some students have flash cars," Amelia commented lightly, "My dad bought me a BMW when I was accepted into Oxford, but if the seats were only vinyl, that does make matter's clearer".

He gave her a blank look, "Why?"

"Vinyl's cheaper than leather," Sherlock said distractedly, looking thoughtfully off towards the fireplace, while Amelia nodded in agreement, smiling slightly at the utterly bemused looks on John and Lestrade's faces as they stared back at herself and Sherlock, clearly not following along in the slightest. Personally, she found it rather amusing.

"Er…" Lestrade blinked slowly, shaking his head, "Yeah, right".

"Remember that he was a student," Amelia told him patiently, giving him a small smile, realising that the poor man truly had no idea what was so important about that. As much as she did enjoy watching the confused and sometimes amazed looks on people's faces when she or Sherlock managed to spot something that no one else had, it wasn't much fun if you were the only person in on the joke, and she did actually want others to become more observant through their exposure to her own methods, "His father was a Cabinet minister, meaning that he came from a wealthy family, wealthy enough to allow him to go off on a gap year to travel," she went on, giving him an encouraging look, "But Charlie himself was still just a uni student, his car was simple and old, meaning that he likely hadn't come into his trust fund yet, so…" she trailed off purposely and waited for a moment, sighing as Lestrade merely stared blankly at her, "Oh, never mind," she muttered, shaking her head as she realised that he really wasn't grasping a word of what she was practically spoon feeding to him.

"Really, Amelia?" Sherlock pulled his gaze off the fireplace, giving her an almost amused look, his eyes practically asking her why she even bothered.

She sighed again, "Oh, shut up, you," she muttered, asking herself the same thing.

"There's something else," John said suddenly, peering intently down at the loose piece of paper that Lestrade had handed him before, drawing all of their attention onto him.

"Yes?" Sherlock lifted an eyebrow, looking expectant.

He sat forward slightly in his armchair, frowning down at the paper, "According to this, Charlie Welsborough had already been dead for a week," he informed them, looking up from the document with a confused look written across his features.

Amelia's eyes lit up, excitement flooding her body, just that one piece of evidence providing her with all the proof that she needed to be completely certain that her theory was right, Charlie must have decided to surprise his father and come home for his birthday, but something obviously went wrong…her excitement diminished slightly, her brow creasing slightly. The question still remained, murder or tragic accident? It wasn't about how the boy's body had come to be in the car, though she suspected that John and Lestrade likely still thought it was, no, to her it was trying to determine how the boy died, that was the true puzzle here for her. She shook her head, glancing at Sherlock, who looked positively delighted, his lips twisting into a smile. She couldn't help her own lips from twitching into a small smirk.

"Oh, this is a good one," he grinned, his entire face suddenly becoming so animated, throwing Lestrade a quick look, "Is it my birthday? You want help?" he asked quickly, his eyebrows lifting as he eyed him.

Lestrade almost seemed pained, drawing in a large breath as he looked back across to Sherlock and Amelia, "Yes, please," he nodded.

"One condition".

He blinked slightly, looking vaguely confused, "Okay".

"Take all the credit," Sherlock practically ordered, causing John's head to snap up in surprise, staring at Sherlock, while even Lestrade couldn't hold back how startled he was, his mouth slipping open very slightly. Amelia, on the other hand, smiled faintly, clasping her hands together on top of her crossed legs as Sherlock continued, shrugging, "It gets boring if we just solve them all".

"Yeah, you say that," Lestrade frowned at him, waving a hand over towards John, "But then John blogs about it and you two…" he gestured between Amelia and Sherlock as he spoke, "…get all the credit anyway".

Amelia leaned back slightly with a frown of her own, rather taken aback by his words as she realised that perhaps Lestrade did make a rather good point, she supposed that it wasn't really a good thing for his reputation if everyone knew that half of his cases were being solved by them, since John's blog still seemed to only be growing in popularity with each case that they solved. Of course, the hype surrounding the three of them had died down somewhat, she no longer feared being snapped walking down the street or worried about some unflattering picture of her during her morning jog ending up on the front page, but every now and again they would still find themselves drawing the media's eye, usually after a new case was published on John's blog, and of course they still gained quite a bit of public interest from people who recognised them out on the street.

John laughed, throwing the detectives an amused look as he held the report back across to Lestrade, "Yeah, he's got a point," he commented, earning a quick look from Sherlock, while Amelia sighed.

"You can hardly blame us for that, Lestrade," she shook her head, giving him a mildly annoyed look, "I mean honestly, blame John, if you must…" she ignored John's offended huff, while Lestrade busied himself with accepting the offered report, "He's the one who writes our cases up, after all".

"Gee, thanks, Amelia," John rolled his eyes, falling back into his seat, "Throw me right under the bus, why don't you?"

"Which makes me look like some kind of…" Lestrade continued as though no one had spoken, apparently having been waiting to discuss the subject for quite some time now, if this little rant was anything to go by. He paused midsentence, struggling slightly to find the right word, shoving the paper back into the folder with the rest of the cases documentation, slightly harsher then truly needed, "…prima donna who insists on getting credit for something he didn't do!"

John lifted an eyebrow and looked back across to Sherlock, who was staring at Lestrade with a slightly startled expression, "Oh, I think you've hit a sore spot, Sherlock," he remarked, almost seeming to be amused.

Sherlock blinked and shook his head very slightly, clearly having no idea what he might have said to have upset the Detective Inspector so much. Amelia reached up to rub her forehead, nodding warily, what sympathy she might have felt towards Lestrade now slightly overshadowed by the dull, threatening pulse behind her left eye that warned of an impending headache.

Lestrade shoved the folder back into his briefcase, still speaking, "…like I'm some credit junkie!" he huffed, throwing his hands up in the air in annoyance.

John nodded slowly, not looking away from Sherlock, "Definitely a sore spot".

Amelia narrowed her eyes on him, "Stop enjoying this, Watson," she said warningly, earning a small smile from John, who was apparently far from alarmed by her tone or glare, though she imagined that after being threatened by the more insane Moriarty, being threatened by her was probably as intimidating as a kitten.

Lestrade gestured between Amelia and Sherlock, completely ignoring the side conversation going on during his ranting, "So you two take all the glory, thanks," he told them, shaking his head firmly.

"Okay," Sherlock said with a slightly bewildered expression, lifting his left hand up slightly from where it was resting on his armrest, almost in surrender.

"…thanks all the same".

Amelia, however, was eyeing Lestrade with a knowing smirk, "What's her name, Lestrade?" she asked suddenly, and Lestrade actually froze, his eyes snapping over to her, his mouth slipping open in a look caught between shock and, dare she say it, panic?

"I'm…I'm sorry?" he blinked slowly, clearing his throat awkwardly, shifting as John and Sherlock looked at him curiously, too.

"The girl, Lestrade," she repeated lightly, her tone perfectly casual, though she was still eyeing him with a glimmer of knowing amusement. Her lips were now stretched into a wide smile, leaning slightly towards him, "Oh, come on, don't try to deny it. Why would you suddenly be so concerned about looking like a 'credit junkie,' as you dubbed yourself, if there wasn't a mystery female you were trying to cosy up to," she laughed slightly as Lestrade cleared his throat awkwardly, "You've never expressed being bothered about it before".

"I…" Lestrade tugged roughly at his coat, looking horribly uncomfortable, while John raised an eyebrow at him and Sherlock smirked, observing the man before them with a calculating look in his eyes. Lestrade shot Amelia a dark look, one that might have made anyone else suddenly quite worried about finding themselves inundated with a number of mysterious fines, but Amelia merely smiled mildly apologetically and shrugged. He huffed after a moment, "Look…" he said with a forced tone, giving Amelia a glare, "Forget about my love life and just solve the bloody case, will you? It's driving me nuts".

Amelia struggled to hold back a laugh and held up her hands, giving him a mock innocent look, ruined completely by the smirk she wore. John was laughing quietly, apparently enjoying watching Lestrade be on the receiving end of one of Amelia's relationship deductions, having had his fair share of them back when he had been dating. Sherlock, in the past, would have made an offhand remark or two, usually one that was very embarrassing and far too personal for someone to be commenting on so bluntly, but Amelia was worse. She seemed to take great pleasure in completely throwing you under the bus when it came to romantic relationships and watching you squirm, all the while smirking with those blood red lips and dark rimmed, glittering eyes.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, though his lips were still slightly lifted in a knowing smile, "Anything you say, Giles," he said with a drawling tone. John and Amelia instantly sobered, giving him a sharp look, while Lestrade looked across to him with an exasperated gaze. Sherlock caught sight of their expressions and broke into a wide smile, "Just kidding".

Amelia sighed and shook her head, while Lestrade gave Sherlock a lingering look, before turning to continue packing his documentation and file away in his briefcase. Sherlock glanced back to John and Amelia, mouthing to them:

'What is it?"

'Greg,' Amelia and John both mouthed, Amelia not quite daring to even try whispering it in his ear, when the room was so silent right now. Lestrade wasn't even making enough noise with his papers to conceal a whisper right now, though if she hissed it low enough, maybe…

Sherlock, sadly, still seemed totally confused and frowned deeply, mouthing: 'What?'

John looked frustrated and turned hopelessly to Amelia, apparently giving up on trying to get the message across to Sherlock and leaving it to Amelia. She could understand his logic, she was sitting in the perfect position to do it, perhaps if they were any other couple her leaning close to Sherlock might not seem odd, but because it was them…well, Lestrade would probably take a chance to try and get back at her for her remark about his love life. She sighed and edged closer to Sherlock, shooting Lestrade a quick look to check that his head was bent over his bag, before leaning close to his ear.

"Greg, Sherlock," she whispered in his ear, barely above a hiss, before quickly leaning back and casually smoothing a hand down her front, casting Lestrade another discreet look to make sure he hadn't noticed anything. Thankfully, the man seemed very focused on his bag, perhaps still trying to avoid any more talk about his love life, which he feared Amelia might try to bring up again now that their more serious discussion was over with.

Sherlock made a faint 'Oh' noise, which did gain Lestrade's attention, his head snapping up to look around at the three of them with a slightly puzzled look. Sherlock hastily dropped his gaze onto his knees and cleared his throat, while Amelia suddenly became quite focused on her dresses hemline, tugging it over her bare knee with more concentration then truly required. Lestrade, being the fantastic detective that he was, didn't fail to notice any of this and instantly shot a suspicious look across to John, the only one perhaps acting perfectly normal.

"It's obvious, though, isn't it?" John said hastily, trying to distract the other man, "What happened?"

"John, you amaze me," Sherlock commented with surprise, lifting his head to stare across to John, lifting his eyebrows curiously. Amelia blinked slightly, eyeing John with interest, "You know what happened?"

"Not a clue," he instantly shook his head, gesturing towards Sherlock, "It's just you normally say that at this point," he gave him a faint, almost sarcastic smile and clasped his hands together again on his crossed knee.

Sherlock returned his smile, though it looked slightly to tight, "Mm," he hummed, while Amelia smiled discreetly and ducked her head, "Well, then…" he dropped the smile and climbed onto his feet, heading towards the landing door, pulling his dressing gown off on the way, "…let's help solve your little problem, Greg," he reached the door and hung his dressing gown up on the hook beside his black blazer, reaching for it.

Amelia barely held back a laugh at the look of shock that filled Lestrade's face, rising along with him and John. She caught John's eye and had to quickly busy herself with moving to squeeze past them to head for the door herself before she could crack up laughing completely, seeing the innocently surprised expression he wore, for Lestrade's sake. She gave into the amused smile that had threatened to twist her lips as she came to stand next to Sherlock, who met her eyes briefly and smirked, reaching for her own black Gucci belted coat. John was a far better actor then most people gave him credit for.

"You hear that?" Lestrade was saying happily to John from behind them, Amelia shot Sherlock a pointed look, pulling her coat on. He sounded positively thrilled that Sherlock had seemingly learnt his name; it was both sad and rather cute.

"I know!" John laughed, playing the role of supportive friend very nicely.

Do not look, do not look…Amelia practically had to repeat it in her head, biting her bottom lip as she belted her coat around her middle and reached for her handbag, a jewelled bee sparkling in the afternoon light streaming in through the windows. If she looked behind her to see John and Lestrade's expressions, she would burst out laughing and that would not be very helpful right now, Lestrade was happy thinking Sherlock had learnt his name at long last. She wasn't going to burst that bubble, not yet, she was positive Sherlock would do that soon enough. Instead she turned to follow after Sherlock, leaving the room and stepping out onto the landing, waiting for the other two men to catch up.

"So how's it going, then, fatherhood?" Lestrade asked from behind her, stepping out of the living room door, John trailing along behind him.

"Oh, good, great! Yeah, amazing".

"Getting any sleep?"

"Christ, no," John grimaced, coming to a stop in the middle of the landing, next to Amelia, while Sherlock tugged his blazer on over his white dress shirt.

Lestrade smiled very slightly and paused at the top of the stairs, looking back over the three of them, "You're at the beck and call of a screaming, demanding baby," he commented with an amused look at John, "Woken up at all hours to obey his every whim…" he turned to look pointedly at Sherlock, who stopped briefly in buttoning up his blazer around his middle, staring blankly back at Lestrade, "Must feel very different".

Amelia laughed; unable to help it as she took one glance Sherlock's completely baffled face, evidently completely clueless about just what Lestrade was talking about. She shook her head, lightly patting his arm as she went to follow after Lestrade, who headed down the stairs, while John tried to be a little more discreet about his amusement, lowering his head and smiling as he trailed along behind Amelia. Sherlock, however, lingered for a moment longer on the landing, watching them go.

"I'm sorry, what?" he questioned blankly, finishing with is buttons, falling into step behind John.

"Oh, incredibly different," Amelia agreed lightly, her tone lifted with humour, pretending not to hear Sherlock behind her, "Do tell us more, John," she threw him a grin over her shoulder, one hand lightly resting on the stairs banister, lest she accidently trip and kill herself walking down the stairs in these heels…to be fair, she wouldn't be to upset about that, she loved these heels.

"Yes, well…" John smiled, giving her a knowing look, "You know how it is. All you do is clean up their mess; pat them on the head…"

"Are you three having a little joke?" Sherlock's voice drifted down from behind Amelia, who could easily hear the frown in his voice. He was still completely oblivious, wasn't he?

Amelia barely held back a snigger, "Making sure they've slept through the night," she added, nodding in mock understanding, giving John a wink over her shoulder, "Oh, and don't even get me started on the battle to get them to eat a full, balanced meal. The temper tantrums…"

"What are you even talking about, Amelia? Have you completely lost your mind?"

"Never a word of thanks," John continued, ignoring Sherlock's annoyed exclamation, while Amelia laughed faintly, "Can't even tell people's faces apart".

"This is a joke, isn't it?"

Amelia actually had to bite her bottom lip to stop herself from bursting out into giggles, hearing the still completely confused, puzzled tone in his voice, stepping down off the last step and into the entrance hallway of Baker Street, still walking behind Lestrade towards the front door. Oh, this was fun; it was so rare that they managed to find something that Sherlock was completely oblivious to, though she did feel a tiny bit bad for teasing him when he couldn't help missing the social cues that most people could pick up on easily.

"Then it's all, 'Ooh, aren't you clever?'" Lestrade went on mockingly, glancing back behind him to where Sherlock was following, frowning in confusion, giving him an amused smile, "'You're so clever!'"

John grinned and moved to grab his jacket from off the coat hooks lining the wall by the doorway, pulling it down, while Sherlock paused at the base of the stairs and eyed them closely.

"Is it about me?"

Lestrade glanced back over to him, before turning back towards John, "I think he needs winding," he commented knowingly, pretending as though Sherlock hadn't spoken.

Sherlock merely stared at them, frowning deeply in pure confusion. Amelia chocked back a laugh; she could practically hear his mind running over everything that they had said the past few minutes, trying to figure out exactly what was going on…judging by that little wrinkle between his eyes, he still couldn't figure it out. It was almost adorable, she had to admit that she was relishing this moment a little too much.

"You know," John smiled again, turning around to face Lestrade, pulling his jacket on in the process, "I think that really might be it".

"No," Sherlock shook his head, his expression clearing, giving a slightly shrug, "Don't get it".

Amelia pattered his arm as he came to join her by the door, Lestrade laughing and leading John out of the front door, "Never mind, Sherlock," she told him reassuringly, laughter lacing her words, "I still love you".

He fixed her with a look, "That doesn't fill me with confidence, Amelia," he replied dryly, moving past her to grab his coat and scarf off the hooks.

She simply laughed.

….

The Welsborough's country estate was really quite lovely, set out in the country side, not far from the middle of the city, but still far enough away to feel peaceful and relaxing in the country air. The house itself was surrounded by fields, dotted with aged trees and relatively well maintained hedges, while a long, gravel driveway snaked itself between two fields, leading up to the house itself, which appeared to be a Georgian era manor house, a handsome porch welcoming guests to the front door.

Amelia couldn't help admiring the home as they approached it, walking up the driveway, stone crunching beneath their feet…she was forced to walk rather awkwardly in her heels, inwardly cringing with each footstep. Today wasn't a great day to be wearing designer heels on gravel. In fact, she had so much trouble trying to keep herself walking mainly on the toes of her heels, lest she scratch her heels to badly, that Sherlock had actually offered her his elbow to cling to for balance, rolling his eyes in the process. He could roll his eyes all he wanted; Amelia cared far more about her shoes then to be too proud to turn down that offer.

"Charlie's family were pretty cut up about it," Lestrade said as he looked across to Sherlock and Amelia, his briefcase swinging in his hand as they walked, "As you'd expect, so go easy on them, yeah?" he gave Sherlock a pointed look.

"You know me," Sherlock shrugged his left shoulder carelessly.

Amelia caught Lestrade's eye, giving him a faint smile as the other man returned her look with a look verging on dread. Walking on her right side, John's phone suddenly began ringing and he quickly fished it out of his pocket, answering it.

"Yeah," Lestrade sighed, breaking his gaze with Amelia and turning to look straight ahead, his mouth pulled into a tight, grim line. Sherlock, however, was almost smirking, almost as though he knew exactly what his companions were thinking and found it highly amusing, for some reason.

"Hey, hello!" Mary's voice called from John's phone, Amelia's eyes flickering over to the slim, black device held in John's palm.

"I'm sure it will be fine," she turned her attention back onto Sherlock, giving him a wary look as he turned his smirk onto her. She winced, resisting the urge to grimace, "…I really, really hope".

He wasn't even going to pretend to behave, was he? Great.

"Got 'em, don't worry," John was saying over the phone, earning himself a quick frown from Sherlock, while Amelia sighed and glanced over to him, too, curious, "Pampers, the cream you can't get from Boots…"

"Yeah, never mind that," Mary interrupted him, sounding rather distracted, "Where are you? At the dead boy's house?"

"Yeah".

"And what do they think? Any theories?"

John glanced across to Sherlock and Amelia, who lifted her eyebrows and smiled slightly, feeling rather flattered, "Uh, well…" he looked back down at his phone, frowning slightly, "I texted you the details".

"Yeah, two different types of vinyl".

Sherlock threw the phone a sharp look and suddenly lunged at it…causing Amelia to slip slightly in the gravel and need to tighten her hold on his arm, giving him dirty glare. He ignored it, of course, busy turning his attention onto the phone he now grasped in the palm of his gloved left hand, Mary looking back up at them from the small screen, lightly rocking Rosie in her arms as she stood in her kitchen, seemingly looking down at them from wherever she had propped her phone. Likely the kitchen table, if Amelia had to guess from the background and angle.

"Hey!" John exclaimed, throwing Sherlock an indignant look at suddenly having his phone snatched from his grasp.

"Seriously, Sherlock?" Amelia huffed at the same time, purposely keeping her hold on his arm tight, "These shoes cost more than our rent!"

Sherlock acted as though he heard none of this, of course, though judging by the slight smirk on Mary's face, the other woman seemed to find it funny, "How do you know about that?" he demanded down the camera, narrowing his eyes on the screen.

"Oh, you'd be amazed at what a receptionist picks up," Mary replied mysteriously, leaning down closer towards the camera, dropping her voice to a dramatic whisper, "They know everything!"

Amelia grinned, peering over Sherlock's arm, getting herself in view of the camera, "Isn't that just women in general, Mary?" she asked innocently, and Mary laughed, lifting Rosie slightly higher in her arms, the baby cooing quietly as her little hands grabbed at her mother's short curls.

Sherlock's eyes flickered over to Amelia, a very faint hint of fondness in his gaze, before he turned back to focus on the camera, "Solved it, then?" he lifted an eyebrow at her.

She smiled, "I'm working on it".

"Oh, Mary," he mockingly shook his head, smirking, "Motherhood's slowing you down".

"Pig!"

"Keep trying," he said lightly, his smirk firmly in place, handing the phone back off to John.

Amelia laughed and loosened her iron hold on Sherlock's arm, meeting his gaze as his smirk softened around the edges, growing into something closer to a proper smile, full of amusement, that lightened his eyes and made him look so much more relaxed. It felt so nice to have someone else who seemed to see through Sherlock's nonsense like she could, even John still seemed to have trouble doing that the way that Amelia or Mary did. Mary just seemed to accept Sherlock exactly as he came, seeing his humour where others might have seen an insult. She didn't loosen her grasp on his arm, even as they stepped onto the smooth stone surface of the porch and Sherlock didn't try to pull away.

"So, what about it, then?" Mary asked, her voice sounding slightly softer now that Sherlock no longer had the phone. Amelia felt Sherlock's footsteps slow very slightly and she glanced at him curiously, finding him peering upwards, towards where a motion sensor light was positioned above the front door, only it seemed to be damaged, still turned on in the middle of the day and a crack running across it. She eyed it as they stepped over the threshold of the front door after Lestrade, filing that little bit of data away for later, "What, an empty car that suddenly has a week-old corpse in it?" she was still saying over the phone, while they moved further inside the entrance hall of the house, "And what are you gonna call this one?"

Sherlock instantly shot a dark look back towards the phone, bringing them to a stop just by the base of the grand, wooden staircase at the end of the entrance hallway, the walls painted a dark yellow and littered with very old oil painters of no doubt long dead relatives and pretty landscapes. Amelia broke into a grin and dropped her hold on Sherlock, her eyes moving eagerly between her friends. It would never not be amusing how much Sherlock pretended to hate John's titles.

"Ooh, the…" John paused briefly, considering it as he looked towards Amelia, "Uh, The Ghost Driver".

"Hmm, mysterious," Amelia nodded approvingly, earning herself a rather pleased smile from John, while Sherlock merely scowled deeper, fixing her with an exasperated look, "Perhaps a little creepy, too, kind of sounds a bit like an urban legend, which should appeal to the younger audience we've been getting lately…"

"Amelia," Sherlock huffed, "Don't encourage him," he turned to level his annoyed look on John, who looked rather amused, "Don't give it a title, John".

"People like the title," John tried, sighing.

"I hate the titles".

"Well, I love them," Amelia cut in sharply, nudging Sherlock's side with a pointed look. He didn't even try to pretend as though it had any effect on him. She rolled her eyes, crossing her arms across her chest, "Can't you just let John write his blog the way he wants to write it, Holmes? If people like it, what does it matter?"

John nodded and gestured with his free hand not holding his phone towards Amelia, "Give the people what they want," he added knowingly.

"No, never do that," Sherlock replied at once, his head snapping back around to frown at John, "People are stupid".

John and Amelia stared back at him, neither of them looking very happy.

"Um, some people," Mary said pointedly, reminding them that she was still very much there with them…well, from afar, anyway.

Sherlock looked mildly frustrated and leaned towards the phone as John turned it around to face the detectives, showing Mary looking back up at them with Rosie still in her arms, giving them a look, "All people are stupid…" he repeated firmly, before pausing, his expression lightening, "Most people," he amended under Amelia's stern gaze, straightening.

Amelia didn't miss the way that John turned his phone back around to face him, giving Mary a little wink and smiling, before ending the call and tucking the phone back in his pocket. She struggled to hold back a cooing noise, just barely; instead she tried to be serious as she turned her attention back onto Lestrade, who was already speaking.

"Bizarre enough, though, isn't it, to be them?" Lestrade waved his hand towards Amelia and Sherlock, who eyed him slightly, eyes narrowed. He smiled slightly, "I mean, it's right up your stresses".

"Charming, Lestrade," Amelia said dryly, while Sherlock simply settled on giving him a very unimpressed look, before turning on his heel and walking away from them. She went to follow after him, ignoring the amused looks she could feel Lestrade and John giving them, heading towards a white wooden door off to the side of the hallway that had a man in a nice suit standing outside it. Silently, he moved to open the door for them as they neared and they all filed inside the large, oval shaped lounge inside.

The walls were painted a dull, dark reddish colour and a large ornate rug covered the floorboards in the middle of the room, a large Chesterfield sofa and two matching armchairs were positioned in the middle of the room, facing each other, and it also happened to be where a middle aged couple were sitting. They both rose as they entered, their faces tense and pale from grief.

"Mr and Mrs Welsborough," Sherlock greeted them politely, if a little quickly for a normal greeting, reaching out to first shake the wife's hand, before swiftly shaking the husband's, "I really am most terribly sorry to hear about your daughter…"

"Son, Sherlock," Amelia corrected quietly, giving the couple an apologetic look.

"Son," he corrected himself instantly, releasing the husband's hand and stepping back with a slight tightening of his lips at his slip.

Amelia shook both Mr and Mrs Welsborough's hands, giving them a sombre look, "Our deepest sympathises for you loss, Mr and Mrs Welsborough," she said gravely, stepping back next to Sherlock and John.

"Mr and Mrs Welsborough," Lestrade began, while the couple continued to give Sherlock a slightly wary look, clearly having caught his slip, "This is Mr Sherlock Holmes and Miss Amelia Wilson".

"Thank you very much for coming," Mr Welsborough nodded to them, wrapping his arm around his wife's back, his face drawn, "We've heard a great deal about you. If anyone can throw any light into this darkness, surely it will be you".

"We're very grateful to you for allowing us into your home during this terrible time," Amelia told them, giving them a bracing smile, "I think I can speak not only for myself, but my partners…" she gestured to John and Sherlock as she spoke, "When I say that we will do everything that we can to try and bring closure to this tragedy, Mr and Mrs Welsborough, with as little inconvenience into your grief as possible," she really, really hoped that she was right about that, her eyes lingering slightly longer on the side of Sherlock's face, hoping he would keep to her word and not do something to completely destroy any shred of professionalism, "Sherlock?" she cleared her throat, giving him a warning look as he turned towards her.

Sherlock met her eyes and gave her a rather forced smile, telling her that he knew exactly what it was that she was trying to silently tell him, "Yes, indeed," he agreed, his voice smooth and completely serious, but it still made Amelia narrow her eyes very slightly…she could practically hear the eye roll in his tone, even if he didn't do the gesture outwardly. He turned back towards the couple, "Well, I believe that I…" he glanced off to the side of the room, his voice trailing off slowly, before he turned back towards whatever had caught his eye, "…can…"

Amelia frowned and looked at him, his words completely trailing off, seemingly becoming focused on something else entirely. She didn't even think he was even paying attention to anything else right now, not even when Mr Welsborough began speaking, oblivious to whatever was going on with the curly haired detective.

"But Charlie was our whole world, Mr Holmes, Miss Wilson," he said to them, his expression etched with sadness even speaking of his son, "I…"

Amelia tried hard to listen to the man before them, speaking of his son, the very son that they were supposed to be trying to figure out exactly how he ended up dying so suddenly. But try as she might to concentrate on listening to Mr Welsborough, she couldn't help throwing Sherlock another frown, finding him still completely entrapped by something else on the other side of the room, his eyes narrowed on it, wearing a look of complete concentration on his features. She tried to follow his gaze and found a rounded, polished table sitting proudly before one of the large windows, covered by framed pictures and a small figurine of a woman.

She felt her eyebrows lift slightly at the shrine to Margaret Thatcher, a picture clearly on display of the woman herself in a blue dress, while another picture frame held a photograph of a young Mr Welsborough smiling as he stood beside the woman, while behind them an even larger frame held an invitation to a reception to 10 Downing Street, sent by Thatcher, during her time in office as Prime Minister. There was even a small china plate with Thatcher's face painted on the middle of it sitting on a small stand at the front of the table. However, as much as the shrine to Thatcher was…interesting, it was the leather cover on top of the table that really caught Amelia's eyes, noticing that it looked slightly scratched and marked in the very middle of the table, between the photos, as though something rectangle in shape had once sat there, but had since been removed, forcibly, perhaps, judging by the marks. That was odd, very odd, she thought as she frowned at the table, but why was it so odd?

"Sherlock?" John's voice drifted through the air, and Amelia blinked slowly, her gaze still glued to the table, "Amelia?"

"Mr Holmes?" Mr Welsborough spoke up, sounding slightly confused, "Miss Wilson?"

Amelia almost jumped, suddenly remembering herself and why they were there in the first place, her head snapping away from the table with a flash of embarrassment at having been caught completely ignoring the grief stricken clients that had specifically requested them to help them. That was totally and completely unprofessional of them, wincing slightly as she found the Welsborough's eyeing herself and Sherlock, while even John and Lestrade were watching them with concern. Beside her, Sherlock whipped back towards the couple, seeming far less caught off guard then Amelia.

"Sorry," he said to them, perfectly calm, if a little wider eyed than normal, "You were saying?"

"Well," Mr Welsborough glanced at his wife, "Charlie was our whole world, Mr Holmes, Miss Wilson. I…" as he spoke, Sherlock looked back over towards the table, nodding absently, while Amelia forcibly made sure to listen this time, "…I don't think we'll ever get over this".

"No," he said indifferently, his eyes fixed back on the table, "Shouldn't think so".

Amelia closed her eyes tightly as the Welsborough's looked sharply at him, startled by his tone. He didn't notice, of course, frowning vaguely at the table.

"For God's sake…" Amelia murmured under her breathe, almost wishing the ground would open up beneath them and swallow them both up, right now. She opened her eyes and gave the couple an apologetic look, "I'm so sorry, Mr and Mrs Welsborough, my colleague didn't mean that to sound so blunt, I assure you. Neither of us could possibly imagine what it must be like to…"

Sherlock suddenly drew in a long breathe and turned back towards the couple, "Will you excuse us a moment?" he said, cutting off Amelia, who stopped midsentence to stare at him as he shocked her even more by grabbing her elbow lightly, giving the couple a distracted look, "We just…" he turned and began to guide Amelia over towards the table, Amelia to surprised by the fact that he was actually touching her in front of clients to even try to stop him.

He still didn't let go of her elbow, even when he brought them to a stop before the table with the photographs proudly displayed, staring distractedly down at it. She sighed to herself, silently hoping that this was the worst thing he was going to do in front of the Welsborough's, before turning her attention onto the table, too. From up close she could see that the scratchers in the table were even deeper then she had thought, fresh, too, by the looks of them.

"I'll just, um…" John said awkwardly from behind them, clearing his throat as he came to stand next to Amelia, his hands clasped behind his back, "Now what's wrong?" he asked them quietly.

"Something is…odd," Amelia replied softly, frowning down at the table, trying to figure out why on Earth this table, those scratches, specifically, seemed to compel her so much when she ought to be focusing on a boy's death and his grieving parents. Why was she staring at a bloody table? But yet…she still couldn't bring herself to turn away and ignore the sense that there was something important staring her in the face, screaming on mute. It was so frustrating, made all the worse by the fact that Sherlock seemed to be having a similar struggle right now, too.

"Hmm," Sherlock hummed in agreement, his gaze fixed on the table, "Just…'By the pricking of my thumb'".

John's head snapped around to them, looking between them as Amelia nodded distractedly, "Seriously?" he scoffed after a moment, "You, Sherlock? I mean, Amelia, maybe…"

Amelia blinked absently, her eyes flickering over to him, "I don't know if I ought to be offended by that or not," she commented lightly, her attention already back on the table.

"Intuitions are not to be ignored, John," Sherlock said sternly, giving him a sharp look, before turning back to the table, eyes narrowed, "They represent data processed too fast for the conscious mind to comprehend, proven all the more by the fact that Amelia also noticed that something was off".

"Again, I don't know if I should be offended or not," Amelia muttered, her eyes running over the photos, but again she kept being pulled back to those scratches.

Sherlock didn't answer her, though his eyes did flicker across to her briefly and the corner of his lips lifted, before his expression cleared once more and he turned back around to face the room, pointing to the middle of the table, "What is this?" he called to the Welsborough's, who were now sitting down on their sofa.

"Oh, it's a sort of shrine, I suppose, really," Mr Welsborough informed them, chuckling slightly as he rose from the sofa, walking over to them, looking at the table, "Bit of a fan of Mrs T," he smiled, rather proudly as he glanced back up to the detectives, "Big hero of mine when I was getting started".

Amelia forced a polite smile, "Oh, how…nice," she said with a barely concealed grimace to her tone…God, it was a good thing her father wasn't around to hear about this. He really hadn't been a Thatcher supporter.

Sherlock seemed to ignore the entire conversation, leaving it up to Amelia, as usual, while he fished his magnifying glass out of his pocket and slid it open, bending closer to the table to start examining it more closely. There was a brief moment of silence as they watched him, before he suddenly straightened, "Who?" he frowned, looking completely confused as he looked back to Mr Welsborough.

"Who?" Mr Welsborough blinked, giving him a startled look. Amelia frowned and gave Sherlock a quick look…She barely held back a groan, realising that he truly didn't have a clue who Thatcher was, though why would he? He didn't know who the current PM was.

"Who…who is this?" he repeated, gesturing back to the table.

"Are you serious?"

"Sherlock," John cut in sternly, crossing his arms across his chest, eyeing him with a look a father might give to a misbehaving child.

"He's being quite serious, I'm afraid," Amelia sighed, reaching up to rub her forehead. And here comes that headache she feared she was getting earlier, she ought to have known that Sherlock wouldn't have a clue who Thatcher was, he must have deleted it. To be fair, she didn't exactly blame him for that one, though.

Mr Welsborough was still staring at Sherlock in disbelief, "It's…it's Margaret Thatcher," he explained to him, giving him a slightly weak smile, glancing back over towards his wife…who was giving Sherlock's back a look that clearly said that she thought he was utterly mad, "The first female prime minister of this country"

"Right," Sherlock nodded, bending back down towards the table. John looked away in exasperation and shook his head, when Sherlock suddenly straightened once more, "Prime minister?" he looked around questioningly.

Amelia narrowed her eyes on him…Okay, what was he doing now? She knew for a fact that he at least had a basic, basic understanding of how parliament worked, he cracked enough jokes at Mycroft's expense to have some clue. So he must be trying to buy some more time, clearly he didn't have a clue what was wrong with the table, so he was trying to give himself a chance to look clever and solve the puzzle. He didn't seem to care if he made himself out to be an idiot doing so, however.

"Mm," Mr Welsborough hummed, looking rather annoyed now, "Leader of the government".

"Right," he smiled, and turned back to examine the table, bending over it and peering through the magnifying glass…, "Female?" he questioned hopefully.

"I'm quite certain you know what that is, Sherlock," Amelia said sharply, while John looked ready to start shaking him in frustration and Mr Welsborough seemed closer still to simply having them chucked out. She glared down at the top of his curly head, crossing her arms across her chest, "For God's sake…would you please stop this nonsense?" she watched him as he slowly straightened and Mr Welsborough walked away, shaking his head at them, "You're going to get us thrown out".

John stepped closer to them, eyeing Sherlock closely, "Why are you playing for time, Sherlock?" he demanded quietly, finally seeming to have caught on.

"It's the gap," Sherlock replied, speaking softly, focusing on the space in the middle of the table, "Look at the gap. It's wrong. Everything else is perfectly ordered, managed…"

"Almost painfully so," Amelia added in a whisper, nodding in agreement as she ran her eyes over the table, "I mean, just look at how everything has been positioned, but yet it's all been cleaned regularly, shifted back into the correct spot each and every time the cleaner has cleaned them, right down the exact same angle as before, as can be deduced by the faint signs of sun exposure on the backs and sides of the frames. But yet…" she frowned at the spot in the middle of table, which looked odd when comparing it to the rest of the items, "There's a large, empty space right in the middle, typically a spot one would place the prized object of their collection. Something was there, of course, but now it's gone. Odd, wouldn't you say, for a collection that has been positioned so carefully?" she glanced back over to John, lifting an eyebrow at him as he frowned slightly.

"Yeah, that is weird..." John said slowly, his gaze lingering on the empty space.

Sherlock turned back towards the room and looked over to where Mr Welsborough had returned to his seat beside his wife, "This figurine is routinely repositioned after the cleaner's been in," he pointed to the porcelain figurine of Thatcher as they looked over to them, before pointing over to the picture of Thatcher in her blue dress, "This picture's straightened every day, yet this ugly gap remains…" he gestured to the middle of the table, frowning, "Something's missing from here, but only recently…" he squatted down before the table, peering closely at the starches, while Amelia bent slightly closer, eyeing the scratches, the context of the table.

"Yes, a…" Mr Welsborough began.

"Plaster bust," Amelia and Sherlock said in unison, still examining the scratches closely. It was really the only thing it could be, in Amelia's mind, given the scratches and the position of it in the centre of the table.

"…plaster bust," he finished, just a little after the detectives, giving them a startled look as he realised they had already figured it out before he could even confirm it.

"Oh, for God's sake!" Mrs Welsborough exclaimed in exasperation, sitting beside her husband, "It got broken. What the hell has this got to do with Charlie?"

Sherlock suddenly rose, just as Amelia went to turn towards the couple, wincing slightly at how badly off topic they had gotten themselves, "Rug!" he said loudly, sliding his magnifying glass closed with a snap.

Everyone stared at him, save for Amelia and John, who glanced down at the floor with a thoughtful expression on his face. Amelia merely nodded in agreement, tapping her foot on the rug covering the floor beneath them.

"What?" Mrs Welsborough blinked, taken aback.

"It couldn't have broken here," Amelia shook her head, eyeing the rug thoughtfully, "If it had fallen off the table, it would have hit the rug, which is to thick to have caused any damage to a solid plaster bust," she shrugged her right shoulder, dismissing a thought as it entered her head, "You also wouldn't have been moving it to another room, not when this is your 'Shrine,' as you described it, Mr Welsborough, so how could it have smashed?"

"Does it matter?" she demanded, looking quite upset now. Amelia glanced over to her and immediately felt a flash of pity for the woman, her eyes red rimmed from crying and dark circles under her eyes from lack of sleep, and here she was, babbling away about a rug when all she wanted to know was how her child ended up dying. It was a very sharp reality check for Amelia, who winced and instantly wished she had simply kept her mouth shut.

"I'm sorry, Mrs Welsborough," she said with a grimace, ducking her head with shame. She ignored the sharp look Sherlock gave her, knowing that he would be thinking that she ought to feel proud right now, that she should be pleased with herself for noticing something everyone else missed, but not when she was standing before a grief-stricken mother, "Sherlock…" she cleared her throat, forcing herself to look over to him, finding him giving her that little frown, "Perhaps we ought to get back on task…"

"Look," Mr Welsborough interrupted, sighing as he rubbed his forehead warily, "No, we had a break in," he looked back over to the detectives, while Sherlock began looking around curiously, "Some little bastard smashed it to bits. We found the remains out there in the porch".

Sherlock frowned, glancing back towards the door that led out into the entrance hallway, "The porch where we came in?" he questioned, catching Amelia's eye as she looked thoughtfully back towards the door, too.

"How anybody could hate her so much, they'd go to the trouble of smashing her likeness…"

Amelia blinked and couldn't help giving Mr Welsborough a look of total disbelief. Seriously? You can't imagine anyone hating Thatcher that much? She was really starting to wonder if Mrs Welsborough realised her husband was in love with old Maggie when they married. They must have the most charming dinner conversations.

Sherlock turned back towards the table, "I'm not expert, but, er, possibly her face?" he suggested, and John closed his eyes in exasperation, while Amelia barely held back an amused look. Mr and Mrs Welsborough looked less than impressed, not that he noticed, frowning down at the table, "Why didn't he smash all the others? Perfect opportunity, and look at that one…" he pointed towards the picture of Thatcher in the blue dress, smirking at the camera, "She's smiling in that one".

"Oh, Inspector, this is clearly a waste of time," Mrs Welsborough sighed heavily, looking across to Lestrade, who stood across from the couch, watching everything, "I mean, if there's nothing more…"

"We know what happened to your son," Sherlock cut across her, turning partly around to look back to them, instantly causing the couple to freeze, hope filling their worn features.

She shifted slightly, her eyes wide, "You do?" she asked, almost breathless with hope.

"Yes," Amelia nodded grimly, "We do".

"But first, tell us…" Sherlock glanced back to the table, earning a slightly annoyed look from Amelia…they could get answers to the bust later; surely the son's murder should be there main focus right now? "The night of the break in," he continued, pretending not to see her look, "This room was in darkness?"

"Well, yes," Mr Welsborough replied quickly, evidently just as eager as his wife to move along.

"And the porch where it was smashed," he gestured towards the door, turning back around to face the couple, "I noticed the motion sensor was damaged, so I assume it's permanently lit".

Lestrade almost gaped at him, shocked, "How'd you notice that?"

"We use our eyes, Lestrade," Amelia smiled faintly, earning her another surprised look from the man, which was just a little insulting, "Honestly…" she shook her head, "You police think you are so highly trained and experts at detective work, but that arrogance breeds sloppiness, Lestrade".

"So you're saying that he smashed it where he could see it," John said slowly, while Lestrde continued to look taken aback.

"Exactly," Sherlock confirmed, turning back to the table, eyeing it thoughtfully.

"Why?"

"Dunno. Wouldn't be fun if I know".

"Mr Holmes," Mrs Welsborough spoke up, her voice choked with tears, "Miss Wilson, please".

Amelia winced, glancing over to the woman, "Sherlock, enough," she said firmly, turning to give Sherlock a sharp look as he sighed, spinning around from the table. He met her eyes, "Time to focus on why we're really here. Now, shall you start or will I?"

He released another breathe through his lips, looking slightly reluctant leave the matter of the bust alone right now, but he did turn towards the couple sitting on the sofa under Amelia's stern gaze, "It was your fiftieth birthday, Mr Welsborough," he began, his speech rapid, but soft, "Of course you were disappointed that your son hadn't made it back from his gap year. After all, he was in Tibet".

"Yes," Mr Welsborough agreed, nodding.

"Actually, that isn't the case," Amelia corrected gently, watching the couple sadly.

He blinked, confused, "I'm sorry?"

"You see, it was the video call he made to you that is the clue to that," she explained, her expression soft, trying to be as gentle as possible. This was a moment they would remember for the rest of their lives, she wanted to break it to them as gently as possible, "It was pre-recorded, easy enough to arrange. The fact that you lost the image of your son part way through the call isn't odd, but when one understands that the trick your son had planned was supposed to be a surprise, it's easy enough to deduce the truth".

"Trick?" he stared at her, blankly.

"Obviously," Sherlock said grimly, "There were two types of vinyl in the burnt-out remains of the car, one the actual passenger seat, the other a good copy. Well, good enough," he shrugged lightly, looking seriously at the couple, "Effectively a costume".

Mr and Mrs Welsborough stared at them in disbelief, Mr Welsborough glancing at Lestrade, as though to check that the other man was hearing this, too, before turning back to the detectives.

"You're joking," he scoffed slightly, his eyes wide.

"I know how it sounds," Amelia assured him, "But it's true, how else could there be two types of vinyl present on the same seat?" she gave them a sad smile, "He was trying to surprise you for your birthday, Mr Welsborough, he asked you to go out to his car and then when you got close enough, he would have jumped out from behind the mock seat and surprised you. But…" she paused, taking a deep breath, before going on, "That's when it happened, and I am so very sorry".

"I can't be certain, of course," Sherlock continued, glancing at Amelia, "But I…we think Charlie must have suffered some sort of seizure. You said he'd felt unwell?" Mr and Mrs Welsborough's mouths slipped open in horror, tears swimming in Mrs Welsborough's eyes, "He died there and then," he went on, his tone soft, almost close to being sympathetic, "No one had any cause to go near his car, so there he remained in the driver's seat hidden until…" he paused briefly, Mr Welsborough taking his wife's hand in his, staring transfixed up at the detectives, "When the two cars were examined, the fake seat had melted in the fire, revealing Charlie, who'd been sitting there quite dead for a week".

"Oh, God!" Mrs Welsborough burst out, sobbing in her hand, while her husband continued to look up at the detectives, hugging his wife to his side, but still wearing a look of shock on his face. It would clearly take him some time to come to grips with what happened to his son, and Amelia truly couldn't blame him for that.

Lestrade turned slightly away from the couple, looking at Amelia and Sherlock, "Poor kid," he said quietly, lowering his eyes to the ground regretfully.

"Really, we're so sorry," Sherlock said sincerely to the stricken couple, Mr Welsborough's gaze distant with shock, while his wife continued to sob into her hand, almost collapsing with each sob, "Mr Welsborough, Mrs Welsborough".

He glanced at Amelia, who met his eyes with a look of sadness in her own eyes, feeling her heart breaking watching Charlie's parents trying to come to terms with what had happened to their son. This sort of thing never got easier, having to explain to the loved ones of someone how their family member or friend had died was always hard, but when it was something like this, someone so young and who had merely died as a result of medical complication, not just as a result of murder, it was somehow even harder to have to witness the family cope with that. At least with murder there was a chance at justice, there could be no justice with this death, merely acceptance, and that was a great deal harder. He surprised her then, by reaching out to place a hand on the small of her back, his expression grim as he lightly began to guide her over towards the door.

Amelia let him, closing her eyes briefly at the sound of the Welsborough's grief behind her as they slipped out of the room, comforted by the feeling of Sherlock's large, warm hand through the fabric of her coat and dress. Neither of them spoke as they moved past the suited man still standing outside the lounge room door, nor did either of them say anything as they headed outside to the front porch. Amelia felt almost as though a heavy weight was pressing down on her chest as she made little move to help Sherlock as he stepped away from her, slipping his magnifying glass out of his pocket and bent down by one of the stone pillars of the porch, examining the ground closely by the base of it. She thought that this case would likely linger in the back of her mind for some time now.

"That was awful," she sighed sadly, shaking her head as she looked down at Sherlock's back, kneeling on the floor, "How do you ever get over something like that? I can't even imagine…"

"Yes, yes, it was very sad," he muttered distractedly, sounding rather impatient now. Amelia almost blinked at his shift in mood, but she had known him long enough now to not be overly surprised, "But it's over with now, Amelia. We have more pressing issues to concern ourselves with".

Amelia rolled her eyes, edging closer to peer down at the ground that he was examining so closely, making sure that she didn't stand in his light, of course, "Don't act like you weren't affected, Sherlock," she said knowingly.

His head gave a slight twitch of annoyance, "Amelia…"

She released a loud breathe through her painted lips, delicately balancing herself so that she was crouching beside him, peering over his shoulder at the ground, "So this is the spot, then?" she asked him, deciding that it really wasn't worth it right now to try and get him to admit what she already knew…he felt bad for the Welsborough's, "This is where our mysterious thief smashed the bust?"

"Evidently," he muttered, just as the sound of two sets of heavy footsteps sounded from behind them. Amelia used Sherlock's back to help herself straighten, Sherlock paying her little mind as she turned to see John and Lestrade step out of the front door of the house.

"That was amazing," Lestrade remarked the moment he caught sight of them, his eyes wide and lit up with wonder, while John came to stand by Amelia, eyeing Sherlock's back curiously.

"What?" Sherlock asked absently, not sparing any of them a glance.

"The car, the kid…"

"Ancient history. Why are you still talking about it?"

John looked around the porch thoughtfully, "What's so important about a broken burst of Margaret Thatcher?" he asked, glancing back to Amelia, who merely frowned slightly, unsure exactly herself why it was so important, just that something about it was odd.

"Can't stand it," Sherlock suddenly sat upright from where he had been bending close towards the ground, eyes narrowed off into the distance, "Never can. There's a loose thread in the world".

"Yeah," he eyed him with a slightly concerned look, "Doesn't mean you have to pull on it".

He frowned deeply, lifting his head to look up at John and Amelia, "What kind of life would that be?" he looked away from them again, "Besides, I have the strangest feeling…" he trailed off slowly, before shaking his head sharply and jumping up onto his feet, just as a black cab pulled up on the driveway a few feet away from them. He immediately began heading towards it, while Amelia looked surprised…Oh, he was a sneaky one, that was for sure, "That's mine and Amelia's," he informed the equally startled John and Lestrade, pointing towards the cab, while Amelia blinked, "You two take a…bus. Amelia, coming?" he looked back over her shoulder to her, seemingly realising she wasn't following.

"Um…" Amelia glanced at John and Lestrade, "I guess so," she shook her head, smiling slightly in bemusement as she moved to follow him…he even opened the door for her as she neared, earning himself a slightly odd look from her.

John laughed slightly in disbelief from behind them, "Why?" he questioned, watching them in confusion.

Sherlock spared him a brief look over his shoulder, while Amelia slid into the back seat, "I need to concentrate," he replied, as though it was simple, "And I don't want to hit you".

"Oh, but you'll take Amelia with you instead?"

He fixed him with a sharp look, moving to climb in after Amelia, "Amelia is far less likely to offer unintelligent chitchat," he said with little apology, slamming the door behind him as he settled himself comfortably next to Amelia, who lifted an eyebrow at him. He didn't look at her, focusing on the back of the driver's head, "The Mall, please".

Amelia smirked as the cab immediately took off down the driveway, leaving John and Lestrade standing at the edge of the porch, staring after them in disbelief, "Admit it, Holmes," she playfully nudged his side, earning her a small glare, "You just wanted to be alone with me".

Sherlock didn't even grace that with a response, which only made Amelia laugh out loud.

It's been a while, hasn't it? Oh, I am so bad at updating things lately, I apologise, guys. Life has been very, very busy the last few months, hopefully it's going to get a little better from here on out. Hopefully. As always, Amelia's outfit will be on my Tumblr, my Pinterest, and Shoplook, all under the same user name.

Next chapter, Amelia and John get up to a little fun at Sherlock's expense, Mycroft just loves to see his baby brother squirm in front of Amelia, and Amelia thinks Scotland Yard needs putting in their place. Tell me what you thought, please review :)

Guest review:

Guest: I've watched every episode of Elementary and I loved the first season, I thought it was so brilliant, the second season was also okay, but after that the show did kind of go downhill in my eyes, hence why I will not be writing for Elementary. I have considered writing a crossover with Amelia meeting Elementary Sherlock or something like that, just for fun, but I wouldn't write a full story for the series. I can't even think of an OC that I would create for the show.

As for the Robert Downy Jr films, I haven't ruled them out at all. I could so think of an OC, I'd probably start off the series with original content, rather than go straight into the movies, which I think would be fun to play with. But right now I have no plans to start writing that story up at all, I've got other projects to contend with that I have actually written and planned before starting a whole new project like that one. But it is a possibility :)