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?

4. Chapter 4 The Six Thatcher's, Part 4

The Six Thatcher's, Part 4

Amelia had been half right when she had jokingly asked Sherlock if he had insisted upon going back to London with only her because he wanted to be alone with her, though Sherlock still refused to admit that. She knew, that was good enough for her. The main reason, however, was that he actually wanted to question her about her brother's political leanings, specifically if James had ever shown any interest in Thatcher. Much to Sherlock's obvious annoyance, she really couldn't help him, seeing as she barely knew James better then a stranger walking down the street, reminding him pointedly that she and her brother didn't exactly meet up and have coffee on a regular base during her brother's life. Politics hadn't been something her family had been overly interested in growing up, oh, she remembered hearing her father's complaints about Thatcher's government, he had been far from a fan of the Iron Lady, but she and James had been young children during that time, neither of them had been overly interested in anything relating to news events during the early 80's.

If James had ever been interested in politics, it had been after he had left home.

Sherlock, naturally, found this to be very frustrating and had spent most of the ride back to the city scowling thoughtfully out his window, occasionally muttering something under his breath or posing another question to Amelia, who had taken to scrolling through her phone to entertain herself. She answered as best she could, though she doubted very much if any of this involved her brother. It seemed…easy, too easy, for James to have been bothered to go to the effort of setting into motion after his death. She kept that to herself, for now, anyway, it was easier to let Sherlock mull over his own theory when he seemed so hyper focused on it right now, besides, they should investigate all possible avenues, just in case.

He was still rather preoccupied by his thoughts, even after they had arrived at the Diogenes Club and been escorted into Mycroft's office. Sherlock had barely given his brother a 'Hello,' leaving Amelia to give Mycroft a rundown of everything they had learnt thus far, while he had began pacing the width of the office behind the silver, metal chair that Amelia was sitting in before Mycroft's desk. Oddly enough, Sherlock did shove his phone at Mycroft at one point during Amelia's explanation of the case, earning himself a slightly confused look from his brother and Amelia, before going straight back to pacing once more. Amelia had simply shook her head and continued speaking to Mycroft, not even going to try and understand Sherlock's thought process right now.

"And so we've come to see you," Amelia finished, after her lengthy explanation, sighing slightly with her hands clasped together on top of her crossed legs. She had removed her coat since entering the room, draping it over the back of her chair, while her handbag sat just beneath her seat. Mycroft lifted an eyebrow at her, holding Sherlock's phone aloft in his right hand, "Though, I'm still not completely sure why we're here in the first place…" she shot Sherlock a narrowed eyed, searching look from the corner of her eye.

It would be so delightful if Sherlock actually paused long enough to explain things to her sometimes, she was clever and good at reading things, yes, but even she needed an explanation from time to time. Of course, she could make an educated guess, after all, who better to ask about anything politically relating then Mycroft Holmes? But she knew it was more likely that Sherlock wanted to ask Mycroft for information about her brother. Mycroft did hold James captured for an unspecified duration of time at one point, surely he must have gained some information on James during that time, information that Amelia didn't have, in any case. Hence the visit to Mycroft…she doubted very much if Sherlock had suddenly decided to pay his big bro a social visit. Mycroft gave her a small smile, one that somehow always looked condescending and smug. Amelia struggled not to grit her teeth in annoyance at the sight of it.

"I met her once," Mycroft remarked suddenly.

"Thatcher?" Sherlock asked, not pausing in his pacing. He had also removed his coat, though he had hung it up on a modern, metal coat stand that stood in the corner of the room, by the door.

"Rather arrogant, I thought".

"God," Amelia blinked, startled as she stared at Mycroft, even Sherlock threw his brother a look, too, "She must have been bad if you thought she was arrogant".

Mycroft actually chuckled lightly at that, which was rather surprising to hear in itself, Amelia thought, "I know!" he smiled lightly, though his expression quickly grew puzzled as he glanced at the phone still clasped in his hand, holding it up slightly for them to see a picture of Rosie lying on a blanket on the grass, Amelia having taken it during one of their babysitting adventures. She had managed to get Sherlock to join them that day in the park, stealing his phone to send the picture to John, while he and Mary had been at work. She was slightly surprised to find that he hadn't actually deleted the picture in the month that had passed since, "Why am I looking at this?" he frowned over to his brother.

Sherlock actually did stop his pacing at that, looking over Amelia's head to him, "That's her," he told him, while Mycroft simply stared at him, confused, "John and Mary's baby".

"Aww, look at you, Holmes," Amelia cooed, shifting slightly in her seat to get a better look at Sherlock, who tried to give her a glare…only it failed rather miserably, "Look how proud you are of your goddaughter".

He narrowed his eyes on her, "Stop that".

She laughed, delighted, "That's so adorable, Sherlock," she said happily, caring little for his annoyance, or his attempt to seem annoyed, "I'm proud of you".

"For God's sake…" he muttered, closing his eyes and gritting his teeth, looking as though he wished the ground would swallow him up right then and there…or Amelia, so he didn't have to look at her grinning, smug face right now. He knew there was a very good reason why he rarely brought up Rosie, Amelia would only jump to conclusions and that seemed rather unhealthy.

Mycroft smiled knowingly at his brother, which only increased Sherlock's annoyance, "Oh, I see, brother mine," he said with a smug tone, leaving no one in question of whether or not he thought Amelia was wrong in her deduction. He turned his attention back onto the phone, eyeing the picture, ignoring Sherlock's glare, "Yes…" he broke into a small smile, one that looked rather…fake, to Amelia's eyes, "Looks very…" he paused, struggling to find the right word, closing his eyes briefly, "…fully functioning".

Amelia and Sherlock stared at him in disbelief, wearing matching frowns, which seemed to have little effect on Mycroft as he lifted his head to look back up to them.

"Is that really the best you can do?" Sherlock questioned flatly, eyeing him.

"Sorry. I've never been very good with them".

"Babies?"

He smiled, almost smugly, "Humans".

"Evidently," Amelia shook her head, giving Mycroft a look, while Sherlock stepped forward towards the desk, taking his phone back from his brother. She refrained from asking whether or not Mycroft would find any child that she and Sherlock might have in the distant future just as uninteresting, but she held herself back. Somehow she thought she already knew the answer to that, which led to another rather terrifying realisation. If she and Sherlock ever had children, they would be Mycroft's niece or nephew…which was just simply scary to think about. Doting Uncle Mycroft was just impossible to picture.

"Moriarty," Sherlock said briskly, slipping his phone back inside his inner blazer pocket, returning to his pacing, "Did he have any connection with Thatcher? Any interest in her? Amelia is useless on the matter…"

Amelia shot him a dark look over her shoulder, though she refined from saying anything. He knew perfectly well just how close she and James had been.

"Why on Earth would he?" Mycroft lifted an eyebrow, lazily watching his brother pace.

"You and James were so very close, after all, Mycroft," Amelia turned back towards him, fixing him with a steady, cool look, "You spent all that time with him…surely you got something out of him, between bouts of torture?" her tone was like ice by the end of her words.

He grimaced at the word 'Torture,' but he also didn't try to deny it, not that there was any question in what he had been doing to James Moriarty when he had held him prisoner. Amelia might not have been close to her brother, but he was still her blood and her twin, she didn't exactly enjoy the thought of her brother having been tortured. When she had first found out about it, she had very nearly tracked down Mycroft herself and slapped him, just for the principle of what he had done. She would never deny that James had been a terrible person who deserved to be locked up, but that didn't mean that she thought it was okay to torture him.

"I merely asked James Moriarty for information," Mycroft sniffed, pretending not to hear her scoff of disbelief and anger, instead he sat forward in his chair and flipped open the folder that he had lying on his desk, though she doubted very much if he actually needed the file.

"And I'm sure you were perfect gentlemen while doing so," she said darkly, eyeing Mycroft as his eyes flickered back up to her briefly. She didn't need to see Sherlock's face to know that he was smirking very slightly, no doubt enjoying watching her calling out his big brother. She sighed heavily, forcing herself to relax her tense shoulders, "I don't suppose your little chats were illuminating in any way to our current dilemma?"

He returned his attention onto the file, running his eyes down the first sheet of paper pinned inside it, "In the last year of his life," he began, "James Moriarty was involved with four political assassinations…" Amelia couldn't quite hold back the grimace, hearing about how bad James had been was harder then she might have expected, "…over seventy assorted robberies and terrorist attacks, including a chemical weapons factory in North Korea, and had latterly shown some interest in tracking down the Black Pearl of the Borgias…" Amelia's eyebrows lifted with curiosity, while Mycroft sat back comfortably in his chair, looking up to them as he spoke, "...which is still missing, by the way, in case you feel like applying yourselves to something practical".

"It's a pearl," Sherlock huffed in annoyance, "Get another one. Amelia has loads, I'm sure she could lend you one…" he waved his hand dismissively to Amelia, coming to stand next to her chair.

Amelia sighed heavily, while Mycroft rolled his eyes, "I'm…not even going to try and explain this one," she muttered, reaching up to rub her forehead, making a mental note to look into it more herself later on. She wouldn't mind taking a crack at tracking down that pearl, fully intending to return it to its rightful owner, of course.

Sherlock paid her little mind, frowning distractedly as he looked away from them, off into the distance, "There's something important about this," he said quietly, "I'm sure," Amelia and Mycroft regarded him closely, but he continued to look off into the distance, thoughtful, "Maybe it's Moriarty. Maybe it's not. But something's coming".

Amelia frowned deeply, eyeing him warily, feeling a sense of concern wash over her. She didn't like the way he was speaking, it made her feel nervous, because she understood what he meant. A part of her also felt like they were standing on the edge of a cliff, just a gust of wind away from being sent toppling right over the edge, but what that wind might be was hard to tell yet. She feared that whatever it was that was coming, it would be their hardest challenge yet, something that might test them to their very limits, tearing apart the weak and fragile aspects of their lives, or perhaps it would strengthen them, force them to grow closer together than ever before. Whatever it was that was coming for them, she feared that it would test them all in ways they hadn't ever been tested before, and that thought alone sent a shiver down her spine.

Mycroft frowned and leaned forward, bracing himself on top of his desk by his elbows and clasping his hands together, "Are you having a premonition, brother mine?" he asked him, watching him closely with a dubious expression.

Sherlock actually blinked, seemingly returning back to reality, "The world is woven from billions of lives," he said, looking back between Amelia and Mycroft, "Every strand crossing every other. What we call premonition is just movement of the web. If you could attenuate every strand of quivering data, the future would be entirely calculable, as inevitable as mathematics".

"What a dull life that would be," Amelia commented softly, and Sherlock's eyes immediately snapped onto her. She shrugged lightly, "To always know what is coming next, to know that it is unavoidable. It would drive you mad. Imagine it, living your life with the exact knowledge of when and where and how you would die…"

Mycroft smiled faintly, which seemed rather odd, given the topic of conversation, "Appointment in Samarra," he said with a flash of amusement, turning his gaze to fix knowingly on Sherlock.

"I'm sorry?" Sherlock looked at him blankly, having seemingly drifted off again in his own thoughts. Amelia looked curiously at Mycroft, too.

"The merchant who can't outrun death," he replied, his smile turning into a small smirk, "You always hated that story as a child, Sherlock. Less keen on predestination back then".

Sherlock narrowed his eyes, lifting his chin slightly, "I'm not sure I like it now," he said flatly, turning away from him and walking over towards the coat stand, grabbing his large coat off one of the metal hooks.

"You wrote another version, as I remember. Appointment in Sumatra. The merchant goes to a different city and is perfectly fine".

Amelia smiled, amused by the idea of curly haired Sherlock poring over a notepad, scribbling away his own version of the story, which was obviously supposed to teach a lesson. She rose from her chair and grabbed her own coat from the back of her seat, pulling it on as she glanced back over to Sherlock, who was scowling as he pulled his coat on.

"How sweet, Holmes," she grinned at him, not bothering to do her belt up this time, "Who would have thought that you were such an optimist".

Sherlock gave her a flat look, "Thankfully, I grew out of that," he said with a deep frown, shooting his brother an annoyed look, less then pleased that Mycroft seemed to be enjoying purposely finding ways to embarrass him from his childhood in front of Amelia, using her clear delight at learning about it to get back at him. It was sadly an excellent tactic on Mycroft's part, "Goodnight, Mycroft".

He gave him a pointed look as he turned towards the door, Amelia smiling faintly as she moved to join him, quickly picking up her handbag from beneath her chair. But Mycroft wasn't yet done, smiling, almost smugly as he watched them.

"Of course, your story didn't end there, did it?" he continued, his tone light, "The merchant becomes a pirate, for some reason".

Amelia laughed at that, looking eagerly to Sherlock, who looked as though he was barely resisting the urge to throttle his brother, "Oh, you have to tell me that story, Sherlock," she practically begged, grabbing his arm and playfully tugging on his sleeve.

Sherlock gave his brother a dark look over his shoulder, "Must you encourage her, Mycroft?" he huffed angrily.

"I haven't a clue what you mean, dear little brother," Mycroft replied instantly, giving him a look of pure innocence and mock confusion, though the slight lift to his mouth as he sat back in his chair was far from innocent.

"And I thought politicians were supposed to be good liars," Amelia smirked, throwing him a knowing look over her shoulder.

Sherlock simply sighed, "Just keep us informed, Mycroft," he said warily, turning on his heel and walking out the office door, not even waiting to see if Amelia would follow.

"Of what?" Mycroft called after them, Amelia easily falling into step with Sherlock, still looking far to amused for his comfort.

"Absolutely no idea," he replied simply, not looking back as they headed off down the long hallway.

….

A week past by with still little progress in the mysterious case of the smashing of Thatcher's bust, during which time Sherlock's mood had ranged from being almost unbearable for even Amelia to deal with, to him being oddly sweet and thoughtful around the flat. He had even agreed to go out shopping for new shirts with Amelia one afternoon, something she had been trying to get him to do for almost three months now with little successes. He had been down to his last three white shirts, all the others had ended up stained or ripped or even burnt, but trying to get him to go clothing shopping had been a near impossible task up until that point. Amelia had even managed to get him to try some new shoes while they had been out. It was all very domestic and little too normal, for them, in fact it had freaked out Amelia so much that the moment they had gotten home, she had immediately began to throw herself into the case of the missing Borgia Pearl.

Of course, they still had their occasional drop in clients that would turn up, today's one was proving to be slightly more dull than normal. Amelia continued to smile and nod throughout the client's story, though in truth she was working more on autopilot, something she knew for a fact was Sherlock's typical way of dealing with their drop in clients. Today he barely even seemed to be paying attention to anything; he hadn't even noticed that John had left the room hours ago to see Mrs Hudson, though he was back now, moving around the kitchen. The client before them was just so painfully ordinary, mostly; anyway, he even worked in insurance and was wearing a pair of grey trousers and a short sleeves shirt.

Amelia struggled to maintain an expression polite interest, perched on the armrest of Sherlock's usual chair, black skinny jean clad legs crossed over one another, while her fitted bright red blouse and matching polished flats contrasted with the black, matching perfectly with the red lipstick and nails. She wore a black blazer over the top of the sleeveless blouse, while a pair of drop earrings made of three delicate, gold circles hung from her ears, displayed clearly by her hair being swept up in a high, rounded bun at the very top of her head. She probably would have gone with the heels if she had known they were getting a client, though, she doubted if they would actually be taking on his case any time soon.

She almost broke into an amused grin as she caught sight of the bright yellow balloon with a smiley face drawn onto it with a black marker, sitting tied to John's chair, filling in for him, apparently. Sherlock really was distracted today; he hadn't even noticed it at all, Amelia was quite curious to see just how long it would take him to spot it. John reckoned it would take him until at least the evening to finally notice, Amelia was saying more like mid afternoon. They had actually made a bet on it when Sherlock had been out of the room, there was five pounds riding on it. She wondered if she would be able to cheat, somehow, just to try and casually draw attention to the balloon…

Outside, muffled voices sounded through the closed landing door, and Amelia frowned slightly and glanced over towards it, their client, Kingsley, still speaking. Next to her, Sherlock shifted very slightly, shooting a small, annoyed look towards the door. It was unmistakable Lestrade's voice and…DI Hopkins; too, it seemed that they had both had the same idea of dropping by on the detectives today. Judging by the tone of conversation, the whole encounter was rather awkward, Amelia almost wished she could be there to witness Lestrade get all flustered, she had always suspected that something might have gone on between Hopkins and Lestrade, just by the way that the two of them would react when the others name was brought up, even in passing…here was the proof of that it seemed.

"I know!" Lestrade's voice suddenly grew louder, clearly bleeding through the door. Kingsley faulted for the first time in his speech, blinking slightly as he looked back around towards the door, making Sherlock twitch in annoyance, "But then I met Sherlock…" his voice only seemed to grow in pitch, causing Amelia to grimace and frown over at the door…Hopkins wasn't deaf, there was truly no need to speak so loudly! Sherlock, fed up, it seems, suddenly stood and began to cross the room with an exasperated glare aimed at the door, "It was so simple, the way…"

Sherlock reached the door and threw it open, glaring through the open door, blocking Amelia's view as she tried to discreetly lean sideways on the armrest to try and get a look.

"Will you please keep it down?" he snapped, not even waiting for a response before slamming the door shut once more, turning back around to pass by Kingsley, heading towards his chair, "Now, you haven't always been in life insurance, have you?" he said casually, sitting back down, "You started out in manual labour," Kingsley blinked, opening his mouth to respond, but he quickly silenced him by rolling his eyes and lifting his hands up, "Oh, don't bother being astonished. Your right hand's almost an entire size bigger than your left".

Amelia shrugged lightly as Kingsley looked down at his clasped hands in his lap, "Side effect of hard work that requires working with ones hands," she commented, her gaze lingering on his hands, which still had some faint scarring from years of work, she suspected something to do with chiselling, if some of the thin, old scars littering his knuckles were anything to go by. She narrowed her eyes thoughtfully, "Let me guess…carpenter?"

"Er, yeah," Kingsley stared at her, his eyes widening slightly in shock. Amelia smiled, looking rather satisfied with herself, "I, uh, took after my dad".

Sherlock shot her a small look from the corner of his eye, a look that Amelia thought was caught between pride and annoyance, no doubt feeling a little disappointed that he hadn't picked that up. Deductive reasoning was something of a competition between them at times, not usually when they were out on a case, in the thick of it all, but when it was something a little more trivial like the case Kingsley was presenting them, it became something of a game as to who could deduce the most. Almost as though he wanted to prove himself perfectly equal to matching Amelia, Sherlock turned his gaze back onto Kingsley, calculating him sharply.

"And you're trying to give up smoking," he added, speaking faster than truly needed right now, as though he was in a great rush. Amelia struggled to contain her amused smirk, one eyebrow arched as her eyes flickered between both men, knowing perfectly well what Sherlock was doing right now, "Unsuccessfully, and you once had a Japanese girlfriend that meant a lot to you but now you feel indifferent about".

"Seriously, Sherlock?" Amelia smiled, shaking her head as their client simply stared at Sherlock, processing what had just happened, "Feeling a little sensitive today, are we?"

Sherlock scoffed, turning his head towards her to fix her with a withering glare, "I am working, Amelia," he said pointedly, sounding eerily like Mycroft. If he started giving her condescending smiles and getting around with an umbrella, she was really going to have to revisit this whole dating thing.

She gave him a tight lipped, knowing look, "Oh, of course you are," she said quietly, nodding in a way that made him narrow his eyes even more on her, "Honestly, the male ego can be so delicate sometimes, it's hilarious".

He went to defend himself, when Kingsley chuckled lightly, instantly drawing both detectives attention back onto him, "How the hell…?" he shook his head, before seemingly remembering something and glancing down his front, looking into his shirts breast pocket, where several e-cigarettes were bulging slightly through the thin fabric. He smiled and looked back up to them, "Ah," he said in understanding, "E-cigarettes".

"Not quite," Amelia smirked mysteriously, making the man pause, his smile dimming slightly in confusion.

"Hmm," Sherlock hummed in agreement, peering closer at the man's pocket, "Ten individual e-cigarettes. Now, if you just wanted to smoke indoors, you would have invested in one of those irritating electronic pipes things, but you're convinced you can give up, so you don't want to buy a pipe because that means you're not serious about quitting, so instead you buy individual cigarettes, always sure that each one will be your last. Anything to add, John?"

Amelia barely held back her groan of disappointment as he turned to look over to John's chair, only to do a double take upon finding the balloon, his head doing a very quick twitch, which she imagined must have been rather painful, eyes widening as he stared at the bright red balloon.

"Damn it," Amelia sighed heavily, closing her eyes in exasperation. There goes her chance at winning the bet…still; at least John had completely lost, too. Mrs Hudson was going to be so smug, she had bet ten pounds on Sherlock realising John wasn't in the room before lunch time, and it was only just 11:43am now.

"John?" he called, his features filling with confusion and surprise.

"Er, yeah, yeah," John suddenly popped his head around the corner of the kitchen door, before fully rounding the doorframe to step into the living room, "Listening".

"What is that?" he demanded, eyeing the balloon.

"That is…me," John replied, moving further into the room, shrugging slightly, "Well, it's a me-substitute".

Sherlock frowned slightly and cast a slightly awkward glance towards Kingsley, as though slightly embarrassed to have a client witnessing this, "Don't be so hard on yourself," he told him, laughing weakly as he caught Amelia's eye, shifting slightly under her obvious amused gaze, before his eyes flickered back over to John, though he dropped eye contact with him almost immediately. Yep, differently embarrassed, it was almost fascinating to witness, "You know I value your little contributions".

"Yeah?" he lifted an eyebrow, his tone light, "It's been there since nine this morning".

"Has it? Where were you?"

"Helping Mrs H with her Sudoku".

"Amelia," Sherlock looked to her, eyes narrowed, "Were you aware of this?"

"Oh, Holmes," Amelia smiled, actually daring to place her hand on his shoulder, her expression filled with mock sympathy, "Do you truly have to ask? I mean, who do you think suggested placing bets on when you'd notice?"

"You were betting?" he exclaimed, looking positively outraged now, throwing John a glare.

John didn't seem to be the slightest bit bothered by his ex-flatmates reaction, in fact he was smiling faintly, "Mrs Hudson's going to be thrilled," he commented, exchanging an amused look with Amelia, "We should probably also let Molly and Mary know they lost out…"

"Molly and Mary were in on this?"

"Of course they were, Sherlock," Amelia shook her head patiently, giving him a small smile, her hand still resting lightly on his shoulder. John was barely containing his laughter now, seeing how truly outraged Sherlock was getting, "I even texted Mycroft if he wanted in on the action, but apparently it was too childish for him," she rolled her eyes at the end of her sentence.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes on them, she could practically hear him plotting revenge right now, his mouth pressed into a firm line and his gaze a little to intent and calculating on her and John to be overly comfortable. She imagined he would find some creative means of getting back at them, or more specifically herself and John, since they were obviously the ringleaders of this whole game to begin with. She couldn't say she regretted it; however, seeing the outraged expression on his face was just too priceless.

"Er…what about my girlfriend?" Kingsley's almost nervous voice broke through the silence that had settled over the room. Amelia, John, and Sherlock's head snapped around to find the man still sitting there, looking around at the three of them with slightly wide eyes. He almost shifted back into his chair at having all of their attention fixed on him.

"What?" Sherlock asked blankly, frowning at him as though he couldn't even remember the man ever having been there.

"You said I had an ex".

"Oh, right," Amelia gave herself a sharp shake, trying to pull herself back into a slightly more professional mindset, one that had little to do with wondering if she ought to be careful about tripwires in the coming weeks. She gave the man a slight smile, shrugging carelessly, "Your tattoo on the crook of your elbow told us about your ex. The names 'Akako,' which is obviously a Japanese name, therefore we can infer that you had a Japanese girlfriend that you cared enough to brand yourself with her name".

"It's also obvious that you've tried to have it removed," Sherlock added, his tone almost sounding bored, not even bothering to look at their client.

Kingsley blinked and looked down at his arm, frowning, "But surely that means I wanna forget her," he said slowly, looking back up to them, "Not that I'm indifferent".

"If she'd really hurt your feelings," he rolled his eyes, looking across to him, "You would have had the word obliterated, but the first attempt wasn't successful and you haven't tried again, so it seems you can live with the slightly blurred memory of Akako, hence the indifference".

He stared at them for a long moment, before bursting out laughing, earning a slightly confused look from both Amelia and Sherlock, "I…I thought you'd done something clever," he giggled, making Sherlock narrow his eyes and Amelia grimace slightly, shooting Sherlock a wary look, "No, no," he shook his head, his laughter dying down, "Ah, but now you've explained it, it's dead simple, innit?" he grinned and looked over to John, who had retrieved his cup of tea during the exchange.

John smiled slightly, closed lipped, and glanced a little apprehensively over towards Sherlock and Amelia. Amelia sighed and shook her head, looking as though she almost felt sorry for Kingsley now, just as Sherlock straightened in his chair and breathed in deeply through his nose, turning himself so that he was more directly facing the other man, before releasing the long, slow breath through his nose once more.

"I've withheld this information from you until now, Mr Kingsley," he began, deadly serious as he regarded the man closely, "But I think it's time you knew the truth".

Kingsley had completely lost his smile by now, giving Sherlock a confused frown, "What d'you mean?" he asked, his eyes flickering over to Amelia…who simply lifted her eyes upwards, her red lips pressed tightly together.

"Have you ever wondered if your wife was a little bit out of your league?" Sherlock lifted an eyebrow, his gaze still fixed steadily on the other man.

"Well…" he considered it briefly.

"You thought she was having an affair. I'm afraid it's far worse than that. Your wife is a spy".

His mouth dropped open, stunned, "What?"

Amelia desperately kept her lips pressed firmly together, not quite trusting herself not to say something disapproving. Or just crack up laughing completely, it could go either way right now, depending how farfetched this would be.

"That's right," Sherlock nodded, speaking rapidly, not taking his eyes off Kingsley, "Her real name is Greta Bengtsdotter. Swedish by birth and probably the most dangerous spy in the world. She's been operating deep undercover for the past four years now as your wife for one reason only: to get near the American embassy which is across the road from your flat," he took a sharp breathe as Kingsley shifted slightly, still looking rather shocked, "Tomorrow the US president will be at the embassy as part of an official state visit. As the president greets members of staff, Grete Bengtsdotter, disguised as a twenty two stone cleaner, will inject the president in the back of the neck with a dangerous new drug hidden inside a secret compartment inside her padded armpit…" Amelia blinked, giving Sherlock a sideways look at that one, barely holding back the giggles, though Sherlock was focused entirely on Kingsley, "This drug will then render the president entirely susceptible to the will of their new master, none other than James Moriarty".

"What?" Kingsley gasped out.

"Moriarty will then use the president as a pawn to destabilise the United Nations General Assembly which is due to vote on a nuclear non-proliferation treaty," he continued, speaking so fast, it was amazing that his words weren't running in to each other, "Tipping the balance in favour of a first strike policy against Russia. This chain of events will then prove unstoppable, thus precipitating…" he finally managed to slow his speech, saying his final words very clearly, "…World War Three".

Amelia tried very hard not to giggle, instead she settled on smiling down at her crossed legs. John, however, did laugh quietly.

"Are you serious?" John grinned at Sherlock. Amelia did let herself laugh that time.

"No, of course not," Sherlock rolled his eyes, and climbed onto his feet, buttoning his blazer around his middle as he did so, "His wife left him because his breath stinks and he likes to wear her lingerie," he barely gave Kingsley a passing look as he walked by his chair, heading over to the landing door.

"I don't!" Kingsley defended himself quickly, looking slightly panicky between John and Amelia. Amelia simply lifted an eyebrow at him, her mouth lifting faintly knowing, while John merely eyed him. He shifted slightly awkwardly, "Just the bras".

Sherlock reached the door and opened it, stepping aside to reveal Lestrade and Hopkins still lingering on the landing, "Get out," he said, his hand still resting on the doorhandle, waiting for Kingsley to hurriedly stand and leave the room, swinging the door shut on his back, which closed with a loud bang.

Lestrade and Hopkins didn't even have a chance to try and speak up.

"Well, that was interesting and boring all at once," Amelia commented lightly, smiling over at Sherlock. He met her eyes and gave her a very slight upturn to his lips, close to a smirk.

"So," John began after a moment, his eyes moving between his two friends curiously, "What's this all about, then?"

"Having fun," Sherlock replied, shrugging as he remained by the door.

"Fun?"

"While I can. Amelia was practically falling asleep…"

"I was not!" Amelia cut in indignantly. He turned to give her a look, which instantly made her deflate slightly, sighing, "Okay, so I was rather bored, I'll admit, not that you were much better…" she added quickly, lifting her finger up to point at him accusingly.

John smiled, looking amused, while Sherlock actually had the nerve to smirk at her. He went to respond, only there was a knock on the living room door, drawing their attention, just as Hopkins swung it open and stepped inside with a dark yellow folder clutched to her chest. The moment she caught sight of Amelia, she almost seemed to sigh in relief.

"Uh, Amelia…" she began eagerly, taking a step towards Amelia, who slipped off the armrest and rose…only Sherlock quickly stepped into Hopkins path before she could move towards Amelia.

"Borgia Pearl, boring!" he declared, grabbing Hopkins by her upper arms and spinning her back around and pushing her towards the door, "Go!"

"Uh, but, uh…"

"Sherlock!" Amelia huffed, giving him a stern glare and marching over to the door. He stopped with a large, impatient sigh with his hands still holding Hopkins shoulders, Hopkins halfway over the threshold by now, "She's my DI working my case, you can't chuck her out!" she lightly whacked his side, which did actually make him grunt, for once.

"But it's just a pearl!" he groaned, rolling his eyes and throwing her an annoyed look. He did, however, let go of Hopkins to turn around to face Amelia fully, "Who cares? It's boring, Amelia! It's not worth your time, and it's certainly not worth mine".

Amelia gave him an unwavering look, eyes narrowed sharply as she crossed her arms across her chest, "Good thing it's not your case, then, isn't it?" she said with sickly sweet smile, which didn't match the look in her eyes, "Now, shut up and let me handle this," Sherlock heaved a loud sigh and made a point of stepping away, Amelia noted that he was very careful to not look at the smirk John had on his face, watching the two of them. She smiled widely and turned to Hopkins, who went to open her mouth hurriedly, looking more relieved than ever, "Having said all that, Hopkins, I am afraid that we're a tad busy right now," she reached for the doorhandle, Hopkins eyes widening in alarm, "I'll text you with a time later. Bye!"

And with that, she swung the door shut on Hopkins's face, only feeling a little bad for the woman. She'd keep for a while, Amelia had already gone over the case and she knew it certainly wasn't going to take Scotland Yard one afternoon to break the case, her, on the other hand, was a different story. But the pearl had been missing for a long while now; it could wait another day or two.

"You're busy?" John lifted an eyebrow at Amelia as she turned around to face the room, Sherlock actually looked quite amused.

She shrugged, "Well, I don't want Scotland Yard to think that they're in charge," she replied lightly, looking far from concerned.

Just then, the living room door flew open again and Lestrade stepped through, holding his own file in his hand. Amelia lifted an eyebrow at him, he must truly be determined today if he hadn't already left with Hopkins after seeing her being told to go, he must have something good up his sleeve…she hoped. Sherlock looked far from happy to see him, however, closing his eyes in exasperation.

"Oh, this had better be good," he turned towards Lestrade, opening his eyes to fix him with a sharp look.

Lestrade smiled very slightly, looking between Amelia and Sherlock, "Oh, I think you'll like it," he said confidently, and from between the closed file he removed a plastic evidence bag, holding it up for them to clearly see shattered pieces of a white, plaster bust. Some of the pieces were quite large, allowing them to easily see that it had once been a bust of Thatcher.

"Okay," Amelia eyed the bag curiously, reaching out to take it from Lestrade, Sherlock edging closer to see it for himself, "This is interesting".

"That is the bust, isn't it?" John remarked lightly, gesturing to it with his hand holding his cup, "The one that was broken".

"No, it isn't," Lestrade shook his head, watching as Sherlock and Amelia took in the contents of the bag with great interest, "It's another one, different owner, different part of town. You were right," he nodded towards Sherlock and Amelia, though neither so much as flickered their gaze up from the bag Amelia held between them as he continued, "This is a…this is a thing. Something's going on," he looked between the silent detectives as Sherlock gently took the bag from Amelia's grasp, looking down at it intently, almost seeming to have completely shut out the rest of the world around him. Lestrade frowned faintly, a hint of confusion crossing his features, "What's wrong?" he questioned, when still no one spoke, "I thought you'd be pleased, well, at least one of you would be…"

"I am pleased," Sherlock said instantly, cutting him off without taking his focused gaze off the bag.

"You don't look pleased".

"This is my game face," he replied, finally lifting his eyes from the bag, his lips curling into an almost smug smirk, "And the game is on".

Amelia watched him turn and walk away from them, heading into the kitchen without so much as glancing at them with the evidence bag grasped in his hand, her eyebrows raised, "And he says he isn't a drama queen," she scoffed slightly, shaking her head as she moved to follow him, finding him already settling himself before his microscope that sat on what was supposed to be the kitchen table, though it functioned more like Sherlock's personal lab more than anything else.

Sherlock barely paid them any mind as John and Lestrade soon joined them, Amelia moving to stand with her back leaning against the kitchen counter along the right hand side of the room, watching Sherlock as he delicately used a pair of metal tweezers to remove a fragment of the plaster bust from the depths of the bag, placing it in a small, glass, rounded dish that he then set beneath the scope of the microscope, peering down at it through the device. She observed him for a few more moments, admiring the look of complete focus he wore, concentrating fully on the microscope, his lips pressed together and his eyes sharp and narrowed very slightly. It wasn't a look she was unfamiliar seeing on him, but she did think that he looked quite handsome when he was in his element like this. God…she might as well start doodling little love hearts and blissfully scrawling 'Mrs Sherlock Holmes' across a diary right now, she certainly sounded lovesick enough.

"So, Lestrade…" she cleared her throat, turning her gaze onto the other man, who lingered silently by the end of the table before the open sliding door between the kitchen and living room, "How many mysteriously destroyed busts is this now?"

"Well," Lestrade began, glancing briefly back over to Sherlock, who remained seemingly completely focused on the microscope, "There's been another two smashed since the Welsborough one," he told them, making her give him a curious look, "One belonging to Mr Mohandes Hassan…"

"Identical busts?" John cut in from across the table from Lestrade, his arms crossed across his chest.

"Yeah," he nodded, and threw another quick look over towards the piece Sherlock was examining, "And this one to a Doctor Barnicot in Holborn. Three in total…" he lifted his left arm up and shook back his shirt and coat sleeve, checking his watch as he spoke, "God knows who'd wanna do something like this".

Amelia eyed him curiously, noting how he seemed slightly distracted by his wristwatch. Lestrade was never usually so impatient to finish up a consultation with them, and judging by how he had just checked his watch, even just briefly, he was quite eager to get on with this meeting and get on with whatever else he had lined up later on in the day. Actually, now that she considered him more carefully, he seemed to have taken a little more care in his appearance today, he had shaved this morning and, if her nose wasn't mistaken, he was even wearing cologne, though it was slightly over powered by the slight hint of formaldehyde that had seemingly been spilt onto his clothing…or skin, at some point in the past few hours since arriving at work. Ah…that explained it; she barely held back her knowing smirk, instead forcing herself to turn her attention back onto the matter at hand. Lestrade's love life, though a nice reprieve, ought not to be her main focus right now, after all.

"Yeah, well," John was saying, looking thoughtful as he considered what Lestrade had told them thus far, "Some people have that complex, don't they? An idée fixe?" he looked directly across to Sherlock as he said that with a rather pointed look, while Sherlock remained intently examining the shard of plaster, seemingly ignoring them all, "They obsess over one thing and they can't let it go".

"Some more so then others," Amelia commented with an amused smile, also looking over to Sherlock with a knowing expression, "Are you still with us, Sherlock?" she lifted an eyebrow.

"No, no good," Sherlock said, oblivious, as usual, to what his friends were trying to subtly say about his behaviour. He was still completely wrapped up in the microscope, while Amelia and John exchanged a look filled with a mixture of fondness and amusement, "There were other images of Margaret…" he paused suddenly and lifted his head very slightly, his eyes snapping up to look at Amelia, dubious, "Margret?"

"Don't try to be cute, Holmes," she told him with a faintly scolding tone, while John simply looked exasperated. She was smiling, however, giving Sherlock an almost teasing look as his expression seemed to lighten very slightly and an almost playful glimmer appeared in his gaze, regarding her almost fondly, or as close to fondness as he would allow John or Lestrade to witness him looking in front of them, "You know exactly who she is, let's not be asinine. It really doesn't suit you".

His lips lifted very slightly, before he swiftly turned his attention back onto the microscope and reached for the tweezers he had left sitting beside it on the table, "…Thatcher present at the first break-in," he went on as though nothing had happened, though for the faint upturn to his lips or lightness to his tone, anyone else who hadn't witnessed the exchanged might have thought so too as he used the tweezers to pick up another piece of plaster, "Why would a monomaniac fixate on just one? Ooh!" he suddenly cooed, his eyebrow rising in interest as he eyed the piece of plaster he had just picked up in the tweezers.

"What?" John asked curiously as Amelia straightened from her leaning against the kitchen counter, looking quite interested now, too, hopeful that they might actually find something.

"Blood," he replaced the new, bloody piece with the other piece of plaster that had sat beneath the scope of the microscope, peering down through the lens at it as Amelia edged closer to the table, "Quite a bit of it, too," he glanced up and over to Lestrade, "Was there any injury at the crime scene?"

"Nah," Lestrade shook his head, before checking his watch once again. Amelia had to stop herself from commenting on it, though this time amusement did cross her features.

Sherlock looked away thoughtfully and caught Amelia's eye, "Then our suspect must have cut themselves breaking the bust," he smirked very slightly, and Amelia couldn't help returning it with a small smile of her own. He plucked the piece of bust up from the dish and grabbed for a smaller plastic, zip-lock bag, dropping the piece into it, "Come on," he didn't even bother to glance at John and Lestrade as he closed up the bag and dropped the tweezers on the table.

Lestrade blinked, giving him a confused look, "Holborn?"

"Lambeth," he corrected instantly, making no move to actually stand. Even Amelia looked slightly confused by that reply, eyeing Sherlock with a curious look as John seemed just as blank, evidently just as clueless as Lestrade or Amelia.

"Um, Sherlock," Amelia frowned, still watching him closely, "Would you please explain why we're going to Lambeth? I hate to be the one to point this out, but we can't actually read your mind…"

"To see Toby".

Amelia very nearly groaned aloud, settling on closing her eyes in exasperation and shaking her head, because naturally Sherlock Holmes would think that explained everything perfectly clearly, but sadly, no, even she was completely clueless about just who Toby was supposed to be. Sherlock, after all, wasn't in the habit of introducing her to people…actually, had he introduced her to anyone? She was almost positive he hadn't.

"Ah, right," John nodded, as though he understood just who Sherlock was speaking of. Amelia threw him a quick look, when he frowned and turned back to eye Sherlock, "Who?" he questioned, just as blankly as Lestrade and Amelia.

Sherlock smirked, glancing up to them briefly, "You'll see".

Amelia narrowed her eyes on him, crossing her arms across her chest, "You're really enjoying this," she accused, which Sherlock didn't even bother deny, throwing her an even wider smirk and something close to a teasing look, which might have annoyed her from anyone else, but from him, it only made her excited to see what he might have up his sleeve next. She smiled and glanced over to Lestrade, catching him checking his watch again, and rolled her eyes fondly, "I would ask if you'll be joining us, Lestrade, but I see that you're busy".

Lestrade looked up from his watch with a slightly startled expression, seemingly almost alarmed that he had been caught out. John, however, seemed slightly puzzled by what was going on, looking between Amelia's growing smug smile and Lestrade's wide eyes, while Sherlock also seemed rather amused by the scene unfolding before him, throwing the Detective Inspector a knowing look.

"Er, what's going on?" he asked curiously.

"Lestrade's got a lunch date with a brunet forensic officer that he doesn't want to be late for," Sherlock said lightly, standing from his chair and grabbing his blazer from where he had draped it over the back of the chair, pulling it on as he turned to eye Lestrade.

Lestrade looked taken aback, though after all these years, Amelia really couldn't understand why he still seemed surprised by them noticing anything, "Who told you?" he almost demanded, staring at him.

"Oh, honestly, Lestrade," Amelia rolled her eyes, shaking her head at him, almost as though she was disappointed in him. He blinked and looked over to her, "No one told us, your near obsessive checking of your watch, freshly shaved face and newly bought cologne, which is being covered up mostly by the formaldehyde you unfortunately got on yourself recently was more than enough information to go off…" she smirked suddenly, while Lestrade almost gaped at her and John leaned slightly closer towards the man, sniffing him curiously, before throwing Amelia a quick glance, "Oh, by the way, you also have some of your lady love's hair on your sleeve…"

He blinked and looked down at his sleeve, finding a couple of long, dark brown strands of hair were indeed stuck to the fabric of his coat. Amelia simply smiled widely, looking quite pleased with herself and feeling rather happy, too, while Sherlock's mouth lifted slightly as he finished fixing his collar, casting Amelia a look that almost looked proud.

"Have a good time," he wished the man, who continued to look rather shocked.

"I will," Lestrade said as he shook his head, seemingly shaking away his surprise. He glanced at John and gave him a small nod, before turning to head towards the kitchen door leading out onto the landing.

Sherlock, however, wasn't done, though he didn't spare the other man a glance as he grabbed his phone from the table and began typing something into it, "Trust me, though," he said after him, "She's not right for you".

Lestrade paused in the doorway and turned back towards them, "What?" he frowned.

"She's not the one," he raised his voice slightly, turning with his phone still in his hands to look over to Lestrade, giving him a brief look before going back to his typing. Amelia raised an eyebrow at Sherlock.

He looked slightly thrown for a moment, "Well, thank you, Mystic Meg," he said sarcastically, giving him one last frown and glancing over to Amelia, who shook her head and simply gave him an encouraging smile, which seemed to cheer him up a little as he turned to leave, disappearing out onto the landing.

Amelia turned her attention onto Sherlock, eyeing him curiously, "Since when did you become such a dating expert?" she narrowed her eyes on him, crossing her arms across her chest again. She really couldn't see how Sherlock could have deduced that Lestrade and his new girlfriend weren't going to work out; she couldn't tell that by looking at Lestrade, seeing them together, maybe, but not Lestrade on his own. Sherlock was good, but even he wasn't that good.

Sherlock was still tapping away on his phone, not even glancing up, "Since I deduced that she has three children in Rio that he doesn't know about," he informed them in a hushed voice, finally lifting his gaze up from the device to look at Amelia and John.

Amelia barely held back her scoff, while John sighed, "Are you just making this up?" he stared at Sherlock, looking caught between exasperation and curiosity.

"Possibly," he admitted, lowering the phone and turning to walk back through into the living room.

"More like completely making it up," Amelia corrected with a shake of her head, trailing after him into the living room and moving to grab her black Dolce&Gabbana handbag from the top of the coffee table, little red flowers covering the front of the bag as she grasped the slim, black leather handle. She glanced over to John, who had followed after them, still looking a little lost, "You can't tell something like that from a look of one of the couple…"

"Well…" Sherlock said over his shoulder, already moving towards the door, throwing her an almost smug look.

She instantly fixed him with a stern look, "No, Sherlock," she said firmly, pointing one finger at him, "You can't, and would you please stop being so bloody mysterious? Where are we going? Who is this Toby we suddenly must see?"

He paused in the doorway of the living room and turned back towards them, flashing her a positively infuriating smirk, as if to say that she'd find out soon enough, before turning on his heel and disappearing out the door. Amelia huffed slightly, while John sighed, glancing at her.

"Sometimes you really could just push him down the stairs, couldn't you?" John commented lightly, giving her an almost sympathetic look.

She smiled faintly, meeting his eyes, "Don't give me ideas, John".

….

They took a cab to Lambeth to meet up with the mysterious Toby that Sherlock seemed to be enjoying keeping to himself, much to Amelia's annoyance, since she hated the fact that she simply couldn't deduce just who this Toby was supposed to be or what task he might be able to help perform for them, since it was obviously someone that Sherlock consulted with in relation to a skill set that he, himself, did not possess. That, in itself narrowed down the field slightly as she sat between John and Sherlock in the back seat of the cab, watching only distractedly as the London streets passed them by, her mind buzzing with thoughts, trying to figure it out…eventually, she had to give Sherlock a look of defeat.

"Okay," she sighed heavily, almost looking physically pained as Sherlock looked across to her, his eyebrows raised and a small smile playing across his thin lips, "I admit it, I can't figure out who this Toby is, would you kindly put me out of my misery and just explain?"

"You make it sound as though I was doing this on purpose, Amelia".

"You know you were," she huffed, barely resisting the urge to lightly whack his arm with his hand, really disliking that smug, knowing look he had in his eyes as he peered mock innocently at her, as though he couldn't see how he was irritating her right now by keeping her in the dark. She narrowed her eyes, realisation hitting her suddenly, "Oh…I see," she nodded slowly, looking away from him, rolling her eyes, "This is for the whole balloon thing this morning, isn't it? You know that I can't stand being kept in the dark like this, it's practically my form of torture".

"Seriously, Sherlock?" John shook his head from Amelia's right, still watching outside his window, though evidently listening to what was going on between his two best friends. He finally pulled his gaze off the window to look past Amelia to Sherlock, giving him a look, "Isn't that a little childish, even for you?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, John," Sherlock replied with little concern, still maintaining his innocent act as Amelia scoffed loudly. He smirked, his gaze lingering on Amelia with an almost victorious glimmer in his eyes, clearly feeling rather proud of himself and feeling as though he had managed to get back at her, at least, for the whole embarrassment over the balloon, John, however, was still on his list. However, as much as he enjoyed watching Amelia's annoyance rise and seeing her dark eyes narrow on him like a laser, he wasn't foolish enough to actually truly upset her, he did have to live and sleep in the same bed as the woman, not to mention the other privileges that that allowed that would be revoked if he made her to cross with him, so as much as it was amusing to watch her try to deduce who they were seeing and why, he had to take the victory and let the matter drop. He turned his eyes away from her, looking towards the front of the car, "There's a kid I know," he explained suddenly, changing the subject, "Hacker, brilliant hacker, one of the world's best. He got himself into serious trouble with the Americans a couple of years ago. He hacked into the Pentagon's security system, and I managed to get him off the charge. Therefore he owes me a favour".

Amelia stared at him in disbelief and mild shock, only vaguely aware of the cab pulling up outside the front of an old, dark brick building in a rather ordinary looking street, the overcast sky causing everything to look a little gloomy. It really did surprise her how many different people Sherlock managed to get favours from, from all different walks of life, as well; in fact she thought it was rather impressive. She certainly hadn't had people like that when she had been working on her own, it would have certainly been useful. She shook her head as John opened his door and climbed out onto the cracked, grey pavement before sliding out after him, Sherlock following suit while John automatically moved to pay for the cab. The car pulled away once receiving the payment and John joined Amelia and Sherlock before the slightly scratched and chipped black front door of the brick house, just as Sherlock reached up to grasp the door knocker and rapped it twice sharply against the old wood, before stepping back beside Amelia.

"So…" John began, while they waited for the door to be answered, "How does that help us?"

Sherlock looked at him in confusion, "What?"

"Toby the hacker," he clarified.

He smiled very faintly, regarding both Amelia and John's curious expressions, almost as though he was amused, "Toby's not the hacker," he told them simply, causing them to both blink and exchange a puzzled look between them.

Amelia sighed, reaching up to lightly press her fingers against her forehead, "Okay, I'm lost again," she groaned, growing quite exasperated by Sherlock's seeming enjoyment of still keeping them in the dark, even while somehow managing to tell them what was going on. It didn't help that she could tell that he really was enjoying watching them try to figure out what was going on.

Sherlock's small smile grew even wider, almost smug, just as the door clicked open and a very tall and large man stepped into view, curly brown hair falling past the collar of his rumpled red flannel shirt and a pair of brown framed glasses perched on the bridge of his nose as he took them in briefly. Amelia gave him a polite smile as she quickly scanned him, slightly confused, since the man standing before her was very obviously a computer hacker, judging by the creases in his clothing that indicated that he spent much of his time sitting and the tired, bloodshot eyes of a man who spent much of his time staring at a screen and forgoing sleep, not to mention the slight curve of his shoulders, indicating again that he spent a lot of time sitting hunched over a computer. What the hell was Sherlock talking about? If this wasn't Toby the hacker, then were they supposed to be seeing this man's roommate, another hacker?

"All right, Craig?" Sherlock greeted the man oddly friendly and happily, turning his large smile onto him.

"All right, Sherlock," the other man replied with a smile in return, flickering his gaze over John and Amelia, focusing on her with recognition that took Amelia by surprise, "You must be Amelia, Sherlock's girlfriend. He's told me about you".

"He did?" Amelia blinked slowly in slight bafflement and amazement, throwing Sherlock a quick look, struggling to fully believe that Sherlock had actually been talking about her to other people and telling them that they were dating. It wasn't like it was a secret or anything, far from it, but Sherlock still wasn't the type of bloke who would go around talking about his girlfriend, in fact, she found it hard to imagine him even mentioning her by name to anyone. What on Earth was happening? Sherlock being friendly towards someone else, Sherlock apparently talking about her to the same person…Craig was too young to have gone to school with Sherlock, so they couldn't be childhood friends…

Sherlock pretended not to notice the look she was giving him, instead, still smiling happily and with a curious sort of excitement in his eyes, he lowered his gaze down towards Craig's legs, "Craig's got a dog!" he said brightly, just as a large, dopey looking brown and black patched bloodhound came slowly wondering out past Crag's legs, dragging a black leather lead over the ground as it approached them.

"So I see," John remarked in slight surprise and confusion, peering down at the dog with a small frown, before glancing questioningly over to Amelia, who could only narrow her eyes slightly in suspicion and turn to eye Sherlock.

Sherlock laughed in delight, his face lit up like a six year old on Christmas morning as he immediately bent down towards the dog, "Good boy!" he practically cheered, cheerfully patting the dog's massive head and scratching his ears, while the dog peered up at him with big, sleepy brown eyes and lapped it up.

Amelia smiled faintly, amused by how animated Sherlock had instantly become just at the mere sight of the dog, seemingly completely focusing on it. It made her immediately want to rush out and get a dog for themselves, perhaps not quite as big as bloodhound, since she rather liked the idea of having something that could curl up on her lap in the evenings, seeing Sherlock's eager, excited smile and bright eyes right now, she didn't think it would be hard to get him to agree to the idea, either. Her smile only grew as the dog turned its shinny, wet nose towards her and began sniffing her hand curiously, before licking it with one giant tongue that made both her and Sherlock laugh.

"Ooh, you're lovely, aren't you?" she cooed down at the dog, who she assumed must be the mysterious Toby, and reached down to rub his smooth, soft ears, not minding the dog saliva on her hand, nor that she was probably going to end up with little bits of hair over her black trousers. She had always been an animal lover, ever since she was very little she remembered adoring animals, horses were her favourite, though dogs were practically tied with them most of the time. Cats…well, Molly's cat was alright, but most of them tended to make her a little wary.

"Hiya!" a bright, cheerful voice almost startled her, having been so caught up in the dog that she was rather startled to look up and find that Mary had suddenly appeared in the doorway of the house, smiling widely with baby Rosie held on her hip, dressed in a pink, fluffy bunny jumpsuit. They had obviously already been in the house before they had arrived, but judging by the look of complete shock on John's face as Mary stepped down onto the footpath before them, he hadn't known that she was there anymore then Amelia had.

"Mary," John stared at his wife and daughter, wide eyed, "What are you…?" he shook his head as he automatically held his hands up, as if to take Rosie, frowning faintly as some of the surprise seemed to fade, "No, we…we agreed we would never bring Rosie out on a case".

"No, exactly, so…" Mary nodded, still smiling as she lifted Rosie up and passed her across to John, who took her with a deep frown still on his face, while Rosie cooed loudly. Mary gave him an oddly cheerful smile, seemingly ignoring John's slightly disgruntled attitude, "…don't wait up. Hey, Sherlock, Amelia," she turned towards the detectives.

"Hey," Sherlock looked up from Toby, who he had been happily patting, now firmly grasping the end of the leash in his hand as he straightened.

"This is a nice surprise," Amelia said happily with a broad smile towards Mary, before ducking slightly so that she could try and get level with Rosie, the baby greeting her with a brilliant, toothless grin and dribble, making the brunet laugh, "Aww, look at you, little bunny," she leaned closer to the baby, who instantly tried grabbing at her long, dangling earrings, thankfully Rosie wasn't quite coordinated enough to actually get close to grabbing them yet.

John, however, was still frowning deeply at his wife, "But...Mary, what are you doing here?" he questioned, glancing slightly in confusion over towards Sherlock, and back to Mary, who simply tucked her hands inside her jacket pockets and looked over to the curly haired man with a knowing look.

"She's better at this then you," Sherlock said rather bluntly, glancing back down at the dog, still absently patting his back.

"Better?" he blinked, turning an offended glare onto him.

"So I texted her".

"Hang on…" he shook his head, narrowing his eyes slightly on his ex-flatmate, while Mary smiled widely, looking rather flattered, and Amelia struggled to hold back an amused look at the expression on John's face as he grew increasingly offended, "Mary's better than me?"

"Well…" Amelia began with a teasing tone, dragging the word out longer then needed as John's eyes snapped onto her. She smirked slyly, "Mary is the ex-super spy, who has some pretty amazing skills that are just simply going to waste, you don't honestly expect her to stay at home and play doting housewife, do you?" she lifted a slightly critical eyebrow at John, who was almost gaping at her, looking almost betrayed by her obvious teasing. Apparently, he seemed to have expected her to be on his side, though she really couldn't understand what would have given him that impression, since she wasn't about to miss a chance to tease him, "Shame on you, John," she mock waggled a finger at her, still smirking wickedly as she did so, barely allowing him a chance to splutter, "Shame on you".

"I…that's not…" he pressed his lips together tightly and closed his eyes in exasperation, tilting his head back slightly with an almost pained sigh, seemingly realising that he really didn't have a chance trying to defend himself against not just Amelia's playful teasing, but Mary's amused grin and Sherlock's slight smile, "Yeah," he eventually muttered, finally opening his eyes again in defeat, "Okay".

Sherlock, just to pile it on all the more, "Nothing personal," he added a little too lightly, throwing John a small flash of a smile as he continued lightly patting Toby by his legs.

John shook his head with a small glare towards Amelia and Sherlock, Amelia was still smirking and held a teasing glint to her dark eyes, regarding him with obvious enjoyment of watching him squirm, while Sherlock seemed to be busy petting the dog again, though they all knew he was listening. He sighed, glancing at Mary as he adjusted Rosie slightly in his arms, "What, so I'm supposed to just go home now, am I?" he asked with a slightly lost frown.

Mary smiled, almost mockingly as she looked back across to Sherlock and Amelia, "Oh, what do you think, Sherlock, Amelia?" she raised an eyebrow at them, glancing back to John with a playful, mock sympathetic look, "Shall we take him with us?"

"Hmm," Amelia considered it with a great air of thoughtfulness, eyeing John, "Well, he is rather sweet and I have to admit, it's hard to resist those sad eyes…"

"John or the dog, Amelia?" Sherlock cut in innocently, looking back up to her with a positively cheeky smile, one that she rarely ever got to see him use, but one that instantly made him look years younger and his pale blue eyes instantly brighter, with a mischievous light in them that made her heart beat just a little bit faster.

Amelia immediately laughed, which only made him look even happier and almost smug at having succeeded in getting a giggle out of her, while John laughed sarcastically, narrowing his eyes into a sharp glare at the detectives.

"Ha, ha," he said with little humour, looking rather close to wanting to kick one of them, he probably would have, if he wasn't holding Rosie, "That's funny".

"I thought it was," Amelia remarked brightly, completely ignoring his sarcasm and glare, grinning widely at him as he shot her a dark look.

"Yeah, well, Amelia you can just go and…"

Mary cleared her throat loudly, cutting off John's no doubt colourful language as she looked between Sherlock and Amelia, "I say we take John," she told them, while Amelia continued to smirk teasingly back at John, knowing perfectly well that whatever he was about to say that she could go and do, was most certainly not language that little Rosie ought to be hearing, but it was certainly amusing to her.

Sherlock paused, looking mock thoughtful, "Well…" he pretended to consider it, throwing John another teasing look.

"He's handy and loyal".

"I suppose he does have a rather cute nose," Amelia added with a considerate nod, barely resisting the temptation to really push her luck and reach out and tap his nose with her fingertip, but she hadn't quite forgotten that time Sherlock had practically ordered John to punch him and then almost ended up being strangled by John after it had escalated quite a bit. Now, she was positive John wasn't about to start trying to strangle her or anything, not like with Sherlock that time, but she also wouldn't put it passed him to find some means of getting back at her…he might even convince Mary to help him, and then she'd really be in trouble.

"That's hilarious," John looked between Mary and Amelia with another glare, his tone flat, "No, seriously, both of you are just so funny".

"Mm," Sherlock hummed, smiling widely as he regarded John.

John sighed loudly, turning towards Mary, "Is it too early for a divorce?" he asked her jokingly.

"Aww!" Mary cooed back at him with a big, teasing smile, and playfully pointed back to herself, as if to say 'Really? Divorce me?'.

"Oh, you know we only tease because we're so fond of you, John," Amelia reassured him, laughing faintly as she reached out to lightly pat his arm, pleased that he hadn't taken any of their teasing to heart and had a good enough sense of humour to know that it was all said as friendly banter. Many others might not have taken it nearly as well as John had.

"Yeah, thanks for that, Amelia. I really feel the love".

Sherlock smirked at that, watching briefly as Amelia stuck her tongue out at John, the childish gesture not at all fitting in with the sophisticated style of dress and makeup she wore, but at least it earned a giggle from Rosie, who seemed to think it was funny and a fond eye roll from John. He shook his head and cleared his throat, gaining all of their attention.

"Barnicot's house, then," he reminded them slightly pointedly, evidently trying to be the one to get them back on track, lifting an eyebrow, "Anyone up for a trudge?" he turned and began to walk Toby along beside him off down the footpath, throwing back over his shoulder to them as the dog barked excitedly at the prospect of a walk, "Keep up. He's fast".

Amelia wasn't entirely sure she believed him, but was happy to be proven wrong this time, if it meant that they managed to actually catch a lead on the strange case they found themselves dealing with…however, she was far from shocked when she was proven right just a few minutes later when Toby suddenly decided that he'd had enough walking and dropped down onto the footpath just down the road from Craig's house, next to a park and a red telephone box. Mary, who had taken the lead shortly into their journey from Sherlock, stood beside the dog, looking rather bored off into the distance as she absently scratched Toby's head, while Sherlock looked intently down at the dog and Amelia and John exchanged a look as the minutes ticked by with little sign of Toby ever getting up again. In fact, only Rosie seemed relatively happy, strapped to John's front in a papoose and occasionally gargling baby nonsense. Amelia, sighing heavily, closed her eyes and tilted her head back towards the grey sky, wishing that they could at least enjoy the sun while they wait, but no, of course not, because this was London and the sun seemed even less inclined to make an appearance today then Toby seemed inclined to track anything.

Finally, after a long stretch of silence, John looked over to Sherlock with a frown, "He's not moving," he rather unnecessarily pointed out, dropping his gaze down onto the dog, who remained on the ground by Mary's feet.

"He's thinking," Sherlock replied instantly, almost a little defensively as he continued to peer intently at Toby, his hands tucked into his pockets of his coat.

Amelia barely contained an eye roll, "Thank God you can read Toby's mind, Sherlock," she said sarcastically, growing a little impatient to get a move on with the investigation, even if Toby's big brown eyes made it impossible for her to get too annoyed. She didn't blame him, anyway, no she was blaming Sherlock, who seemed perfectly content to stand idle all afternoon and stare at the dog as though he held all the answers. She crossed her arms across her chest, her blazer starting to provide her little warmth in the increasingly cooling air as evening neared quickly, "And here I thought we just looked silly standing around here all afternoon, it's nice to know that we're not disrupting Toby's delicate thinking process".

Sherlock barely even flickered her gaze over to her, "You should have worn a coat, Amelia," he commented with little sympathy.

She narrowed her eyes on him, "Your care for my well being is positively heart warming, Holmes," she huffed slightly, dropping her gaze back down onto Toby, who gave a small whine as Mary continued to absently stroke his head.

John eyed the dog for a moment longer, before shaking his head when still Toby made little move to stand, "He's really not moving," he glanced at Sherlock again.

"Slow but sure, John, not dissimilar to yourself".

He frowned and looked thoughtfully down at Toby, before lifting his accusing gaze back onto Sherlock, who remained almost as still as a stature, "You just like this dog, don't you?" he pointed back down to Toby, making Amelia laugh faintly.

Sherlock blinked slightly, finally looking over to him, "Well, I like you".

"Seriously, Sherlock?" Amelia groaned slightly, looking caught between fondness and exasperation, "At this rate, it would have been better to go to a pet shop, at least then we wouldn't be in danger of being accused of loitering".

"We're working a case, Amelia".

"Really? Because I feel more like we're just standing around, waiting for something to happen, though to be fair that is our life in general".

Sherlock narrowed his eyes on Amelia with mild annoyance, not that she seemed to care as she tugged her blazer tighter around her middle. If they were moving, she knew she'd warm up quickly, but standing around like this wasn't exactly helping to get the blood flowing or her body temperature up. But still they waited, silence falling over them again…

"He's still not moving," Mary said tiredly, her eyes still holding a rather distant, unfocused look as she stared off into space.

Instantly, Sherlock looked back down at Toby, his eyes actually brightening slightly, "Fascinating," he murmured with obvious interest as he eyed the dog, making Mary sigh loudly in exasperation and Amelia coverer her eyes with her hand, barely resisting screaming in frustration, mainly for the sake of Rosie.

"That's it," she dropped the hand from her face and moved to take the lead from Mary, who let her with little complaint. Sherlock frowned in puzzlement as he watched her loop the end of the leash around her wrist and fingers a couple of times, just to make sure that Toby couldn't get free if he did decide to just take off, before lifting her eyes up to glare at Sherlock, "I am not standing here another second longer, action is required. Come on, Toby," she perked her voice up slightly, making it a bit higher and more exciting as she lightly tugged at the leash, "Come on, boy, walkies…"

Much to all of their surprise, save for Amelia, Toby actually responded to her urging and slowly climbed onto his feet, seeming content to allow her to lead him off down the footpath as he almost immediately began sniffing at the pavement as they went. Sherlock, Mary, and John quickly moved to trail after the pair as Amelia kept a brisk pace, and pretty soon, just as they were approaching a intersection, Toby suddenly began pulling her off towards the right, his nose still down at ground level, when he began picking up the pace until he was half running down the street, Amelia jogging along beside him to keep up, so very grateful that she had gone with the flats today and not the Louboutin's. Thankfully, after a short while she managed to reign him in a little so that she didn't end up getting to tired, but he still continued pulling her onwards through the streets, up and down one after another, even doing an almost loop at one point. She barely held back a small groan as Toby began running again as they were passing by a large church, forcing her back into a quick jog just a few steps behind him, her fingers arching slightly from the leather of the lead digging into her flesh…but at least she wasn't chilly any more.

"He's definitely found the scent of our suspect," she called back over her shoulder to the boys and Mary, her shoes slapping against the pavement as she went.

"It would seem so," Sherlock remarked from a few steps behind her, the sound of her companions own shoes pounding against the concrete filling the air, "Three breaks ins with nothing taken in a matter of a few weeks, only a burst, the exact same bust of Thatcher, smashed to bits…" he paused for a moment, seemingly allowing them to all consider his words, though Amelia was a little busy just trying not to trip herself up to really be listening to intently, "Well?" he asked, though who he was speaking to wasn't completely clear to Amelia with her back to him, "What do you make of it?"

"They were looking for something," Mary said, just as Toby turned and began leading them off down a dirt path through a park, Amelia and her companions keeping pace with him.

"Yes, but it wasn't a burglar," he told her, and Amelia could just picture the frown he must be wearing, his eyes slightly narrowed in thought, "They came specifically for that Thatcher bust. Why?"

No one could possibly answer, but Amelia did allow herself the chance to think it over as Toby finally slowed as they began heading off down another series of streets. The suspect had to be looking for something, something that somehow related back to the same bust, but in what way? The obvious answer to her was that whatever it was, it must be inside the bust, but the suspect didn't know which one, so they were targeting anyone who had the same bust…but what could that thing be? Why were they so desperate to get it back that they had taken such a great risk to enter people's homes? And how did this object come to be inside the busts in the first place? These thoughts swirled through her mind as Toby led them straight into the middle of the Borough Market, pulling them deeper through the market, ignoring stall after stall and the number of busy shoppers, some who paused to give the bloodhound a quick look. He led them onwards and towards the meat section of the market, where he suddenly came to a stop just by the edge of a very large puddle of animal blood that had sawdust thrown through it, trying to soak it up. All around them, people bustled around, some carrying pig carcasses over their shoulders from cool storage, while other's used massive knives to cut up chunks of meat from straight off the bone. Toby whined softly from beside Amelia's legs as they watched for a moment in silence as a man used a wide broom to brush the blood soaked sawdust into a heap to clean up.

"Clever," Sherlock said as he stared down at the blood, looking impressed despite himself.

"Very clever," Amelia agreed, frowning faintly as she eyed the mess thoughtfully, before casting him a sideways glance, "It speaks of possible training, someone who was taught how to cover their tracks with their environment".

"It's what I'd do if I was wounded and knew I was leaving a trail," Mary nodded, making Amelia wave a pointed hand towards her with another look at Sherlock.

John shot his wife a quick glance, before shaking his head, "Like hiding a tree in a forest," he looked back over towards the blood, before casting his eyes around the rest of the market.

"Or blood in a butcher's," Sherlock muttered with narrowed eyes. He sighed after a moment and shook his head, moving around Amelia to crouch down before Toby, gently grasping his large head between his gloves hands, affectionately scratching him behind his ears. Amelia watched with a small, fond smile, "Never mind, Toby," he peered into his eyes, "Better luck next time, hm?" he lifted his head slightly and looked around them, "This is it, though. This is the one," he dropped his hands from Toby, rising from his crouch to catch Amelia's gaze, "I can feel it".

John blinked, his eyes widening slightly in disbelief, "Not Moriarty?" he almost laughed, making Sherlock and Amelia look back over to him.

"It is curious enough to be something James might have planned," Amelia said slowly, though she looked slightly torn as she bit her lip. She looked away from them, her gaze growing unfocused, "He probably would have liked the drama of someone going around smashing those busts, too, but…" she sighed, looking even more uncertain as she pulled her focus back onto her friends, who watched her with different expressions. John looked sympathetic, while Mary curious, but Sherlock was watching her intently with sharp eyes, "But…" she repeated, more firmly, "I don't think this is it, Sherlock, I know you do, but I just don't see James doing something like this as his final game. It's intriguing and odd, yes; however, it also doesn't have enough flair to it".

"Amelia, you barely knew Moriarty…" Sherlock reminded her in a tone that said very clearly that he didn't agree with her, regarding her with a deep scowl and a vaguely frustrated tightening to his lips.

"Perhaps not," she cut across him, lifting her chin slightly higher, not planning on backing down on this one, "But he was my twin, Holmes, we did grow up together for the first eighteen years of our lives, no one knows his flair for the dramatics better than me," she closed her eyes briefly, before meeting his eyes again, her gaze sharper and firmer than before, "Call it a twins intuition, Sherlock, but I don't believe this is anything to do with James. I just don't".

Sherlock didn't speak, but the look he fixed her with said it all, he didn't agree with her, nor did he think that her so called 'Twin intuition' meant anything, not that Amelia could really blame him for that, since she and James had hardly acted like your typical twins or even like typical siblings, if she was being honest, but she just couldn't shake the feeling that she was right on this one. But there was a time in her life were she and James, while never close, had been brother and sister, had grown up together and shared in that something only they could understand, and that is why she was confident in this. They might have gone their separate ways in later life, but once upon a time, they had been a pair. That had to mean something.

How is everyone handling the current quarantine? I really hope you guys, your friends and family are all safe and well. Now, back to the story, Amelia's outfit will be up on my Tumblr and Pinterest, and hopefully it won't take me another nine weeks to get the next chapter up, which already half written as we speak. Speaking of which, coming up Amelia isn't happy to just sit back and do nothing, Sherlock takes a dip, and a little bit of action is required. I hope you guys liked it, please stay safe and keep up with social distancing and hand washing. Please review :)

Guest review:

Izzy (Chapter 1): Aww, thank you so much, I'm delighted that you like the story. Reviews are certainly very helpful and motivating for every writer, I think, but it's not really the reason for why I continue writing, they do make my day, though, but it doesn't really bother me if one story gets more reviews then another, besides, in my experience the first story in a series tends to have the least number of reviews anyway.

Well, I write the stories I want to read, and I just never could find a story for Sherlock that satisfied me enough, that's not to say that there aren't many stories that aren't well written, as I know there are, I just couldn't find the story I specifically craved and so I decided to write it myself. The thing that tends to bother me the most with Sherlock/OC stories is that when I first began looking for Sherlock/OC stories was how quickly the romance happened. Even as a fourteen year old, I just couldn't see Sherlock getting romantically involved with someone by the end of the first season, I just never found a story that made it believable to me that he would fall for someone that quickly, so when I began writing Amelia, I knew right from the start that it was going to take a long time and a lot of development on both of their parts for romance to become a factor. I suppose, what I really wanted, was to try and see if I could write a Sherlock/OC story that felt believable and realistic, and I hope that I have archived that to some degree, mind you, I'd change things if I was starting the series all over again. I also didn't want to write a character who was like a copy of Sherlock or who was some sort of ex-super spy or hacker, I wanted to write a woman who, while still perfectly equal to Sherlock mentally, is in a lot of ways quite normal…not that being a millionaire with ridiculously expensive tastes in clothing is 'Normal'.

I agree, I enjoyed how they showed John's grief throughout this season, even though it broke my heart watching it and it even made me cry in a few scenes, I'm happy that they didn't just sort of brush over Mary's death and the impact it had on John or Sherlock, for that matter, because we also see Sherlock grieving and I loved the fact that we got to see that grief bring them closer, even though it almost destroyed them. Poor John, indeed. Thanks for the review :)