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?

5. Chapter 5 The Six Thatchers, Part 5

The Six Thatcher's, Part 5

It was well into the evening before Amelia and Sherlock returned Toby back to his rightful owner, Mary and John having parted from them at the market, leaving the detectives to make the rather long walk back to Craig's house. Sherlock had even kindly given Amelia his coat for the journey, having rolled his eyes almost fondly at the sight of her in the dim, early evening light with her arms wrapped around her middle as they walked, he had even held back making another comment about how she ought to have dressed more practically for the season, rather then what was fashionable. By the time they arrived back at Craig's house, having been unable to get a cab to take them with the rather massive dog, it was completely dark outside. They made arrangements to return in the morning, before heading back to Baker Street for the evening.

Amelia supposed that it had been a rather useful day, or at least she thought it had been as she prepared for their meeting with Craig the following morning, finishing pinning her hair back in a half-up, half-down style so that it fell down her back without actually getting in the way of her face, before pausing to consider her reflection more closely. Her black, short sleeved jumper was tucked into a suead, light brown skirt that was covered in printed flowers and flowed out slightly around the top of her legs, while a pair of nude Louboutin's complimented the outfit. She'd also paired it with a matching brown trench coat and a wicker handbag, along with red lipstick and nails, and rose gold, square shaped stud earrings. They had determined that the person smashing the busts was at least somewhat trained or intelligent enough to know how to cover their tracks, which was something and possibly useful…though, it didn't exactly tell them much more and Sherlock still seemed quite certain it must have something to do with James, something Amelia disagreed with. Time would tell, she supposed.

They left Baker Street by cab and arrived at Craig's shortly after, where the hacker happily greeted them, allowing them into his house where Toby was sleeping soundly on a rather shabby looking dog bed by the heater in the small, messy living room, not even seeming to hear their arrival, much to Sherlock's disappointment as he eyed the dog for a moment, much to Amelia's amusement. But rather then leading them into the room, Craig instead took the detectives upstairs to the top level of the house, which seemed to be his base of operations. A very cluttered, old desk was pushed up against one of the walls, in the corner, while another, just as messy but slightly more modern desk ran along the end wall, with several computer screens running different programs on them set up across two desks. On the other side of the room a very old, saggy looking couch sat facing the desks, covered in bits of discarded clothing and misshapen pillows from years of abuse, while several empty pizza boxes littered other surfaces around the room. Craig politely offered the couch to Amelia and Sherlock, however, they both delicately declined, choosing instead to remain standing behind his chair as he took a seat before the old desk, setting to work tapping away at the keys of his keyboard, most of the lettering and numbers worn away from use and shinning slightly. The air smelt slightly stall, dusty, but with a faint sweetness from soft drink probably being spilt, Amelia imagined as she cast her eyes around the room…and she thought Sherlock kept a messy workspace.

"Have you heard of that thing, in Germany?" Craig asked them after a while of tapping away, his gaze fixed on his computer screen, which had a stream of numbers and lettering running across the screen, complete nonsense to Amelia's eyes.

Sherlock frowned slightly in mild frustration, peering expectedly at the back of his head, "You're going to have to be more specific, Craig," he said pointedly.

"'Ostalgie,'" he explained, shaking his head slightly, "People who miss the old days under the Communists. People are weird, aren't they?"

"Mm," he narrowed his eyes, almost looking puzzled by exactly why they were discussing this right now, though, to be fair he thought the same thing about pretty much everyone.

"People find comfort in a sense of order," Amelia remarked lightly, looking over Craig's head and at the screen, though she couldn't understand what the code was saying. Coding wasn't really something she had ever taken much interest in, she doubted she'd have the patience, "They like a sense of structure, especially if they grew up with it…but, yeah, I can't say I'd fair very well in a Communist society," she pulled a face at the thought, glancing at Sherlock beside her, "I'm far to materialistic".

"About clothing, yes," Sherlock agreed, briefly running his eyes over her, which made her smirk slyly at him as he lifted his gaze back up to her. He caught sight of her smirk and rolled his eyes, clearly knowing that she found it amusing that she had just saw him plainly checking her out, though he would likely deny it and scoff at the mere suggestion. His eyes narrowed into a glare, not taking his gaze off her as he said in slight annoyance, "Craig, have you found anything of relevance or not?"

Craig didn't even seem to notice a thing, still glued to his screen, "Well, according to this," he nodded his head towards the screen, pulling Sherlock and Amelia's attention back over to him, "There's quite a market for Cold War memorabilia…Thatcher, Reagan, Stalin," he smiled slightly, almost seeming amused, "Time's a great leveller, innit? Thatcher's like…I dunno, Napoleon now".

"I'm pretty sure this isn't about collecting the busts," Amelia commented slightly warily, thinking about the broken shards of bust she had seen.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, looking caught between boredom and frustration, "Yes, fascinating, irrelevant, Craig," he said quickly, moving to lean over Craig's shoulder to peer intently at the screen, while Amelia simply watched on, hoping that this whole thing hadn't been just a big waste of time, so far Craig really hadn't provided them with any information about the busts that they didn't already know. Sherlock clasped his hands behind his back, practically looming over poor Craig, "Where exactly did they come from?"

"I've got records of the suppliers…Gelder&Co. Seems they're from Georgia".

Amelia perked up at that, straightening slightly with a suddenly very interested expression, "Georgia the state, or the country?" she asked sharply, and Sherlock cast her a quick, curious frown over his shoulder.

"Uh, Tbilisi," Craig replied, bringing up what appeared to be an shipping form on his screen, Amelia edged closer to get a closer look and Sherlock stepped slightly sideways to give her more room to see, "Batch of six," he continued, seeming oblivious to the look of mounting realisation on Amelia's face, while Sherlock looked between her and the computer, thoughtful, "One to Welsborough, one to Hassan, one to Doctor Barnicot. Two to Miss Orrie Harker…" as he read them out, Sherlock's phone began ringing and he quickly fished it out of his pocket, though Amelia was looking off into the distance with unfocused eye, lost in thought as she paid him little mind, "…one to a Mr Jack Sandeford of Reading".

Sherlock answered his phone and lifted it up to his ear, "Lestrade, another one?" he asked in greeting, finally pulling Amelia from her thoughts and she blinked slightly, looking curiously at him. He glanced at her and lowered the phone between them, hitting a button to put the call on speaker.

"Yeah," Lestrade's voice came over, sounding tired, but unsurprised.

"Harker or Sandeford?"

There was a brief pause, Amelia could just picture the look of confusion and disbelief that must be on Lestrade's face right now, it was enough to make her smile, "Harker," he called back, seemingly quickly getting over his surprise, "And it's murder this time".

Amelia raised an eyebrow, not surprised that it seemed as though their suspect had been caught, no doubt during the act of breaking in or perhaps while smashing one of the busts, but it did colour the matter with a slightly different shade, didn't it? It meant now that they were dealing with an actual killer, not just a likely thief. They were desperate, willing to do anything and risk everything, it would seem, to get at whatever it was that they knew was stashed away in one of the busts, and she thought she now understood just what that might be. The Black Pearl, the very same case she had taken on and Sherlock had scoffed at and deemed 'Not worth either of their time,' but still she thought it wise to remain open minded. If she had learnt anything about solving cases alongside Sherlock, it was that one ought to always keep an open mind to everything, even when ones instincts said otherwise…which was why she had decided to at least indulge in the possibility that James had planned this whole thing, even if she knew in her heart he hadn't. She released a long, slow breath through her red, painted lips and met Sherlock's eyes, admiring the way that his eyes had brightened very slightly with intrigue.

"Hm," Sherlock said without dropping his gaze from hers, "That perks things up a bit," and without even pausing, he ended the call and immediately turned to leave the room.

Amelia rolled her eyes slightly at his dramatics, turning to give Craig a smile as the other man remained in his desk chair, now turned to face her, "I'm afraid we have to go, Craig," she told him, adjusting her handbag more comfortably on her shoulder, "But thank you so much for all your time and effort, it's a big help. I'm sure we'll be in touch".

"Good luck," Craig nodded to her, swivelling his chair back around to face his computer screens.

She wasn't thrown by perhaps the slightly curious response, most people might have said 'Goodbye' or offered to show her out, but after all these years and living and dating Sherlock Holmes, she wasn't exactly thrown by many people's curious behaviour anymore. She headed back downstairs and found Sherlock waving down a cab out the front of the house on the pavement, the cab pulling up right alongside them as she was turning away from closing the front door. She slipped into the back seat of the cab, where Sherlock soon joined her after giving the driver the address and the cab swiftly pulled away, heading off down the street. They hadn't even reached the end of the street before Sherlock, who had been eyeing her with a slightly thoughtful gaze, began to speak.

"You think the Pearl's hidden in one of the busts," he said, not even asking, but rather simply stating it as a fact as he continued to regard her closely.

Amelia glanced across to him, eyebrows slightly lifted, "Do you disagree with my deduction?" she asked, her tone sounding oddly professional, though her dark eyes held an almost playful glimmer to them.

"Obviously not, in fact it's entirely plausible and likely, given the fact that we know that Moriarty had an interest in the Pearl…"

"I'm still unconvinced that he has anything to do with this, Sherlock," she reminded him firmly, frowning faintly at him. Almost instantly he narrowed his eyes on her, clearly just as frustrated today as he had been the day before over her refusal to agree with him on this matter. After all, while they might have their disagreements in other areas of their lives, more often than not they seemed to agree when it came to their cases, perhaps not always each other's methods of seeking out said answers, but the actual suspect was typically something they could both agree on. But not this time and apparently, it was annoying Sherlock quite a bit. She sighed slightly, closing her eyes briefly at the look he was still giving her, "It's just…it feels to easy for this to be James's final game, perhaps when he was still alive he would have done something like this just to see you dance, or whatever it was he seemed to find so amusing, but this was his very final play against you, Holmes," she slid her hand across the back seat, covering his hand resisting on the seat beside him with hers, squeezing it almost apologetically, "Believe me, I want the constant wondering to be over too, but I just don't believe it's this case".

Sherlock glanced down at her hand, before surprising her slightly by turning his wrist so that he could weave his fingers through hers, her red nail polish looking brighter when entwined against his pale skin, "Are you sure you're not just blinded by sentiment, Amelia?" his eyes snapped up to hers suddenly.

"Sentiment?" she almost laughed, amusement colouring her tone.

"After everything he did, all the pain and hurt and fear he caused to you, you still love him, even now. Are you quite sure this isn't just sentiment from a sister who wishes to remember her twin as a good person in death?"

She did scoff at that, rolling her eyes as her humour faded, "I'm not insane, Sherlock," she told him, her voice taking on a slightly darker edge, while her eyes grew colder. It made her look more like James Moriarty then she usually did, they did share the same eyes, after all, but hers usually held a warmth to them that Moriarty had always lacked, "I know who and what my brother was, death can't ever erase that, not even in my eyes. This isn't sentimental attachment or me trying to respect the dead, this is me telling you that I knew my brother, perhaps not what he liked or disliked in his adult life, his political leanings, but I did know his basic mentality and he would never have done something this simplistic and dull for his final bow".

Sherlock pressed his lips together in a firm line, leaning back slightly from her as he kept his gaze fixed on her face. She could practically read it in his eyes that he was inclined to agree with her right now, he believed her, but she also knew that there was something else there keeping him from fully giving up on the idea that James was behind this case. Perhaps it was the fact that he was tired of waiting? Tired of constantly wondering when this final game was supposed to start, just as she was, she almost felt as though their lives had been placed into a sort of limber for the past several months since New Year's Day and that message had been splashed across every screen in London. A part of him knew she was speaking the truth, based on logic and not just sentiment, as he had seemed to assume at first, but he evidently still felt conflicted. She gave him a small, gentle smile and squeezed his hand in hers, her eyes softening, warming once more.

"We'll figure it out, William," she reassured him gently, daring to even reach up with her other hand not held in his to lightly cup the left side of his face. He could have moved away from her, if he had wished, she made sure that he had the chance, knowing how he still tended to shy away from public displays of affection, even though there was just the cabbie sitting in the driver's seat in front of them, hopefully paying more attention to the road then to them right now. He didn't move away from her as her hand touched his cheek, her thumb lightly caressing his sharp cheek bone, while his eyes remained locked on hers, filled with a tenderness that often surprised her, even now.

"Naturally, we will," he replied softly, before he cleared his throat and that unguarded affection that he had held in his eyes as he had looked at her was pushed aside, replaced with his cool, emotionless look. She reluctantly dropped his hand from his cheek, though she kept her hand in his and he made no move to slip his fingers from hers, "Tell me everything you know about the Black Pearl of the Borgias," he almost demanded, as though the soft, gentle moment between them hadn't happened at all.

Amelia, just to play with him a little, lifted an eyebrow, "Oh, so now you're interested in my case?" she smirked slightly smugly at him, while he sighed in exasperation and briefly looked away from her, "I thought you said that case wasn't worth either of our time? How quickly you change your mind, Holmes…"

"Are you quite finished, or need I remind you that this might be the key to solving our far more pressing case?"

"But you said…"

"Amelia," he cut across her with an almost frustrated growl, glaring at her almost dangerously, though she found it far from frightening, especially considering the fact that he was still holding her hand, "Gloating isn't a very attractive sight on you".

"I wish I could say the same about your frustration on you," she shot back with a positively wicked grin, her eyes glimmering with teasing. She leaned closer to him, while Sherlock tensed slightly at her suddenly closing the distance between them, bringing her lips right up to his left ear, her lipstick just shy of staining his flesh. She could almost see his pulse jumping in his neck, both from his annoyance with her and no doubt other, far more pleasant emotions that her proximity to him triggered. She dropped her voice to a whisper, letting her nose brush against one of his curls, "It is a very sexy look on you, William".

"Amelia," the warning in his tone was very clear, even with his voice slightly lower than normal and hushed, not quite to a point of a whisper. She pulled back to sit back in her seat, smirking at the sight of his darkened eyes glaring right back at, looking caught between being annoyed with her teasing and something else, a look she had grown increasingly familiar with seeing in his gaze when they were alone. She almost felt like pushing him even further, but considering the fact that they were literally on their way to a crime scene with a murder victim awaiting them, she thought that she probably ought to be a little more professional…though, that boat might have well and truly have sailed by this point.

"The Pearl has quite a history," she began explaining casually, as though nothing at all had just happened, she even absently brushed a hand down over her skirt as she spoke, though she felt his eyes on her and not just because he was listening intently to her retelling of the case, "It once belonged to the infamous Borgia family, hence the name, there's some historical evidence to suggest that the Pearl was in fact gifted to Lucrezia Borgia by either her lover or one of her husbands, but history is a little vague on the details…" she shook her head, mildly surprised that Sherlock hadn't interrupted her yet and told her to get to the more recent and relevant history of the Pearl, but he remained curiously silent, looking at her with obvious interest. She shrugged lightly, thinking over everything she had read on the case, "After that, the Pearl pops up from time to time throughout history, before disappearing into obscurity somewhere around the early Georgian period, until it suddenly appeared at an auction house in the South of France in the early 70's. It was bought by a private vendor for an obscene price before once again disappearing".

"Until now," Sherlock commented lightly, looking away from her in thought.

She nodded, "Six years ago it was stolen from a high security and guarded vault in Georgia," she continued, turning her gaze onto the road before them, not wishing to make herself car sick, "Interpol quickly launched an investigation, but aside from a few dead end leads and rumours over the years, they really haven't turned up a thing, not even a single credible suspect".

"But they think the Pearl is possibly in London?"

"Apparently they picked up some chatter circulating the black-market in London a few months back about someone claiming to have a 'Legendary Pearl' that they wish to sale off, but they've yet to actually find any evidence or anyone who knows a thing about the Pearl, hence why Scotland Yard turned to us, or rather me…" she shot him a pointed look at that, just in time to catch him rolling his eyes.

Sherlock turned his head to look directly at her, regarding her thoughtfully, "And what do you think?"

"I think that concealing something like a Pearl in a bust would be an excellent means of transporting it from place to place, without questions".

"Hmm," he hummed faintly, and turned his gaze onto his side window, bringing his fingertips together beneath his chin.

Amelia left him to his thinking, allowing her own eyes to return to watching the road ahead of them. It seemed a little coincidental that the Pearl and the smashing of the busts might be connected, but it seemed like a promising lead right now. More promising than anything Interpol had managed to come up with in six years, anyway.

…

"Defensive wounds on her face and hands," Lestrade told Amelia and Sherlock as he led them out into the back garden of a white, two story, rather large house that was positively buzzing with forensic officers and police, two uniformed police officer's lifting a yellow police tape up for them to pass through into the crime scene, which seemed to include most of the expansive garden. He walked them over towards where a body of a woman in her fifties was lying face down on the grass, dressed in a grey dressing gown, "Throat cut, sharp blade".

"She was also in possession of one of the busts?" Amelia questioned as they neared the body, while forensic officers snapped pictures of the scene. She wondered if Anderson had made any improvement since his break down…,"Smashed to pieces too, I expect?"

He nodded, glancing at her, "Two of them this time".

"Interesting," Sherlock remarked as he exchanged a brief look with Amelia, who frowned faintly and turned her eyes back onto the body. The woman seemed to have been trying to escape her killer, her slippers left lying on the grass a short distance away from where she had fallen, the killer seemingly having grabbed her from behind as she had tried to defend herself and then slit her throat, suggesting to her once again that they were dealing with someone who had training, they had acted methodically and killed the woman quickly when she probably tried to either stop them or tried calling for help. Sherlock turned his gaze down onto the body; too, eyeing it critically, "That batch of statues was made in Tbilisi several years ago, limited edition of six".

"And now someone's wondering around destroying 'em all," Lestrade shook his head, frowning deeply as he looked back across to Sherlock and Amelia, briefly throwing his hands up in the air, "Makes no sense. What's the point?"

"No, they're not destroying them," he corrected, shaking his head as he kept his gaze on the woman's body just a few feet away from them, "That's not what's happening".

Lestrade blinked in confusion, giving him a look of complete bafflement, "Yes, it is".

Amelia glanced sideways at Sherlock, eyeing him slightly, "Well, yes, obviously the busts are being destroyed, Lestrade," she said in agreement, when Sherlock briefly closed his eyes in annoyance, turning her eyes onto the still horribly confused Detective Inspector, "But that's just a small detail in this case, there's a larger picture here…"

He simply gaped at her, looking even more clueless and frustrated by what it was that Sherlock and Amelia seemed to be saying, but yet weren't saying at the same time…which made it completely impossible for anyone but them to understand, apparently. It was hard enough to know what the two of them were talking about at the best of times, but right now they were making no sense at all.

"I've been slow," Sherlock muttered, scowling down at the body, though he didn't seem to actually be seeing it, "Far too slow…"

"I think we're both guilty on that score, Sherlock," Amelia sighed grimly, regretting not having put the bust and the Pearl together sooner than this, especially when she had taken such an interest in the case of the missing Black Pearl herself. It made perfect sense to her now, how the Pearl had been transported and kept hidden for all these years, but it didn't explain yet who had stolen the Pearl in the first place, though it seemed likely to be their mystery bust smasher. Of course, she also knew that Sherlock still thought James behind it all, she, however, firmly believed otherwise, but they could deal with that once they had caught the thief, turned killer.

Lestrade looked blankly between the two of them, before lifting his gaze up towards the bright, sunshine filled sky briefly, almost as though he was praying for patience dealing with the two of them and their nonsense, "Well…" he turned his eyes back onto them, giving them an almost pained look, filled with frustration and exasperation, "I'm still being slow over here, so if you wouldn't mind…" he looked at them pointedly.

"Slow but lucky, very lucky," Sherlock cut across him, narrowing his eyes in concentration as he lifted his head to meet Amelia's gaze, "And since they smashed both busts, our luck might just hold. Jack Sandeford of Reading is where I'm going next…" Amelia instantly frowned, noting how he purposely seemed to leave her out, swiftly turning back towards Lestrade, giving him a thin smile, "Congratulations, by the way".

"I'm sorry?" he frowned at him.

"Well, you're about to a solve a big one," he clarified, his lips turning upwards very slightly in amusement, exchanging a quick look with Amelia, who struggled to hold back a laugh. They both turned to start walking back up the garden towards the house, Amelia balancing herself with practiced ease on the balls of her heels so her stilettos didn't sink into the soft earth. She did, however, smile faintly as she felt Sherlock suddenly reach out to grasp her arm, helping steady her with an almost fond eye roll.

Lestrade didn't follow them, "Yeah," he said with a hint of bitterness from behind them, "Until John publishes his blog".

"Yeah, 'til then, basically".

Amelia did laugh at that, earning a smirk from Sherlock, "Goodbye, Lestrade," she called back over her shoulder, "Do try not to wallow in the self pity for too long, you might actually solve a case without us…one of these days," she didn't need to look behind her to know that Lestrade had likely just given her the finger, but much like with John she knew that it was all done in good nature. She continued to smile faintly as she and Sherlock reached the patio of the house, the two of them swiftly stepping through the open, sliding door where a couple of forensic officers were snapping pictures of the kitchen area. She waited, however, until they had slipped out the front door of the house and onto the semi-circle drive way before throwing the side of Sherlock's face a small, suspicious look, "Why do I get the strangest feeling you don't want me to go to Reading with you, Sherlock?"

Sherlock didn't even pretend to be ashamed at being caught out, instead he glanced across to her with an eyebrow lifted, "You are aware that I am likely going to be involved in a physical altercation with our suspect, yes?"

"Obviously," she rolled her eyes, pausing to face him properly in the middle of the gravel drive way. Sherlock stopped too, looking back to her, "What's wrong, Holmes? Afraid I won't be able to control myself seeing you go fist-to-fist with someone?" she mockingly swooned, pretending to gasp and flatten the back of her hand against her forehead.

Naturally, he rolled his eyes at her antics, "You'll be a liability," he told her bluntly, instantly dispelling any humour she might have felt, a deep, slightly offended frown crossing her features as she fixed him with a sharp glare.

"A liability?" she repeated, her tone taking on a hint of anger and danger that might have made any one else back down, but not Sherlock Holmes, apparently. She stepped closer to him, her heels bringing her easily to his full height and barely resisted the urge to poke his chest, "Oh, you seriously did not just call me that, Sherlock Holmes! You would never dare call John a liability…"

"John's a soldier, as he so loves to remind us all, who knows how to defend himself, you, on the other hand, are an ex-party girl who is laughable outmatched by even the most armature of physical assailants…"

"I can defend myself just fine, thank you very much!"

"Amelia," Sherlock sighed, looking exasperated, but surprisingly patient, "In all of the physical encounters you've had during our cases, you have never once successfully disarmed or taken down a single opponent by physical means. Even what little self-defence I've taught you, you have only managed to vaguely grasp".

Amelia gritted her teeth, glaring at him angrily as she crossed her arms across her chest, before releasing a huff through her lips and looking away from him, almost bitterly because try as she might…she couldn't deny that he was speaking completely logically right now. She wasn't a fighter, even when Sherlock had tried teaching her a few moves, like disarming a gun or knife from an attacker, she had still struggled with getting the coordination and speed down, let alone actually trying to go head on with someone with actual training, she'd be either dead or in the hospital within seconds. But she still wanted to be stubborn and insist that she would be fine, feeling her pride being wounded by the fact that while she was able to excel academically and in most mental pursuits, she was laughably unprepared for physical fighting. Perhaps with more practice and proper training, she'd improve, but that wasn't going to happen within the next few hours.

"Amelia," Sherlock's voice broke through her thoughts, making her reluctantly look back to him. He was watching her closely, his eyes soft as he reached out to grasp her elbow again, though this time it wasn't for the excuse of helping her to remain upright, "You're an excellent detective, I have no doubt of that, you've proven yourself more than capable of keeping up and even matching me, more than once, but this isn't your area. I'll handle it".

She sighed heavily, knowing that he was just trying to make her feel better, "Just…" she licked her lips, meeting his eyes firmly, "Be careful, okay, Holmes?"

He smirked, "Of course".

…

Amelia Wilson considered herself to be many things, she was an ex-party girl, as Sherlock kindly reminded her, she was a private detective turned consulting detective, a sister, a daughter, a friend, a girlfriend, but she was also a feminist. A feminist who wasn't about to just allow herself to be sidelined just because she couldn't fight hand –to-hand against someone and was there for considered to be a 'Liability'. Oh, she wasn't idiotic enough to actually think she could fight, truth be told she didn't even want to, but she was going to be damned if she was just going to stay home all night and let Sherlock bloody Holmes go gallivanting about the place, solving their joint case, she wasn't one of those women who was just going to sit at home and watch telly, letting her man do all the dirty work. They were an equal partnership; therefore she couldn't just accept that she should stay home, not when she was perfectly capable of doing something. If Sherlock wanted to handle the physical side of things, she was perfectly happy to let him, she knew he could handle himself more than well enough, but that didn't mean she couldn't be of some use.

And so she played her role, even managing to fool Sherlock into thinking that she had very reluctantly accepted the night's plans as they returned to Baker Street. She made sure that she treated him with enough chilliness to make him think that she was at least a little upset with him, and he seemed to buy it completely. Close to seven thirty that evening, Sherlock moved to leave and Amelia wished him luck, giving him a lingering kiss before he left for Reading…the moment she heard the cab pull away from the front of Baker Street, she was dashing into their bedroom and shimmering out of her skirt, replacing it with a pair of black skinny jeans and black, rubber sole ankle boots that had only a slight lift to them, though they were much safer and softer then her beloved heels, though she kept her jumper and tan coloured trench coat.

It took a little over an hour and a half to reach the Sandeford house, which was quite a modern build that was surrounded by some fields and woodland, somewhat separated from the main township by a long gravel drive way. Light positively spilled out from every window in the house, though she expected that Sherlock had arranged for the Sandeford family to not to be on the property when everything actually went down. It was a delicate waiting game, she couldn't sneak into the house until Sherlock was well and truly inside and she couldn't wait for the suspect to arrive in case he should come across her while scoping out the house, so she tried to time her entry into the home carefully. The security system was down already, thanks to Sherlock, so she needn't worry about that as she carefully approached the house from out of the darkness, having waited until all the lights in the house had been switched out before daring to approach. There was a back door to the garage and she took a moment to quietly pick the lock with a small lock picker tool that she had brought along with her. She'd learnt to pick locks was she seven and bored, she and James had even made something of a game of it, though she had always been faster.

The lock clicked open after less than forty seconds and she smirked to herself, feeling rather smug as she tucked the tool back inside a small, leather wallet and tucked it into her back pocket of her jeans, just in case she needed it quickly again. She almost felt like it was the old days again, back before she met Sherlock and John, back when she was working on just her own for the most part, occasionally getting called in to help on a case that Lestrade found tricky, back in the days when Sherlock had been to high that even Lestrade hadn't been able to overlook his condition to allow him to work on a case or when Sherlock might have deemed the case to be boring. Of course, it was only until now that she knew all of this, back then she had known that Lestrade worked with another detective from time to time, eventually learning said detective's name, but she hadn't known the full story. In a way, she missed those days, there were times now when she wondered if her skills were truly of any use to Sherlock when they were both so similar in that way already, but she loved working with him, he'd taught her so much and she hoped she had taught him a little something too, at the end of the day she wouldn't give it up for anything.

The garage smelt like engine oil and in the dark, Amelia could make out the shadow of a Land Rover, while in the next section over there was a classic car covered by a white, dust cover. She didn't bother to take a peek, instead she moved almost silently passed the front of the cars and across to where a small step up led to a door, which was unlocked when she tried the smooth, cold doorhandle. The inside of the house was very nicely styled, the walls seemed to be painted a stark white and the floors done in a polished concrete throughout as she found herself stepping out into a hallway, gently closing the door behind her as she looked up and down the darkened hall. She couldn't be sure where Sherlock might be lurking and she didn't have any intention of running into him at this stage of the evening, nor did she wish to find herself face-to-face with their suspect, but she knew that where ever Sherlock was, it was likely near the bust.

Where would one display a bust of someone they obviously must admire…somewhere it would be viewed regularly, pride of place in the home, more than likely, which ruled out the upstairs completely. She remained in the dark for a moment, considering it, if it was her she would put something like that in the main living area, right where anyone could see it and she could look at it, too, much like how people liked putting photographs on mantelpieces. The living room, or family room, seemed like the obvious place. She had to move slowly through the ground floor, however, since she didn't actually know the layout of the house, but thankfully it was so modern and quite open layout, meaning that she just had to walk in the right direction and she'd likely end up finding it. She must have wasted more time then she had previously thought, because by the time she found the open planned living room and kitchen, she could already hear a scuffle going on just around the corner, which opened up into the space.

Amelia flattened herself against the wall, cringing as she heard what sounded like someone's head being smashed repeatedly down onto a hard, wooden surface, or at least it sounded like a head, it could have been any part of the body, really, while the sound of a man grunting loudly mixed with the sound. Okay…so Sherlock was likely getting a concussion right about now, that was just brilliant, thankfully he did have a pretty hard head. She tried to peer around the corner, but she didn't quite dare, managing to spy a white, modern plastic bar stool lying discarded on the floor, as though someone had thrown it. Close to the chair, she could also see a duffle bag lying on the ground, with the bust, unbroken. Perhaps she could dart out and grab the bust, use it as a means of distracting the other man's attention and turning this all in their favour, before Sherlock ended up getting whacked around to much more. She knew she'd be able to do it before the man currently fighting Sherlock could reach her, judging by the sound, she could vaguely determine that Sherlock was closer to the doorway then the other man…if she could just get the bust, she could stop all of this…

Suddenly, there was an abrupt end the sound of flesh being hit and what sounded like a pair of heavy, solid boots skidding slightly backwards against the floor. She immediately tensed, the silence somehow even worse than hearing someone possibly hurting Sherlock. She wanted to look around the corner so badly, she had to bite her bottom lip and dig her fingernails into her palms just to stop herself.

"You were on the run," Sherlock said slightly breathlessly, but he sounded utterly focused. Amelia closed her eyes briefly in relief at the sound of his voice, how lucid he was, even after being hit likely several times in the head, "Nowhere to hide your precious cargo…" there was another grunting noise, as though someone had just been kicked or punched again, and Amelia strained her ears to listen to more sounds of scuffling going on just around the corner from her, but it didn't seem to be quite as bad as before. The noise died down and the sound of two men's breathing filled the tense air, "You find yourself in a workshop," he went on again, speaking louder and faster than before, and Amelia could just picture the sharp, calculating expression he must be wearing as he glared down the other man, "Plaster busts of The Iron Lady drying. It's clever, very clever," his voice grew softer and darker, "But now you've met me, and you're not so clever, are you?"

"Who are you?" another, unknown male voice demanded breathlessly, his words laced with an English accent, though Amelia had no doubt that it was possibly fake.

"My name is Sherlock Holmes".

There was a brief pause and Amelia squeezed her eyes shut, waiting tensely. She still didn't quite know what she was going to do, but she knew that she had to act soon…this other man wasn't just going to walk away from this and nor was Sherlock. It was just a matter of who was going to win, and Amelia wasn't prepared to gamble with Sherlock's life or safety like that.

"Goodbye, Sherlock Holmes".

The words were spoken almost softly, before a great battle cry of rage filled the air and Amelia actually jumped, her eyes widening as she heard heavy boots thundering against the polished concrete floors before the sound of glass shattering and a very large splash came next. She almost tripped herself up in her haste to round the corner, her eyes widening in horror as she was met by the sight of what was once a large glass window that separated the indoor swimming pool and kitchen area, the glass now shattered across the floor, while two blurred, darkened outlines of men seemed to be locked in a underwater fight against one another, splashing water everywhere. It took a second for Amelia's mind to catch up to her body as she went to run immediately towards the pool, not caring in the slightest if she was only throwing herself into certain danger and possibly endangering Sherlock even more by accidently distracting him at a critical moment, all she wanted was to grab him and pull him out, back onto dry land and away from his attacker. But then her logical side kicked in with so much force that she almost skidded against the glass shards littering the floor.

She sucked in a deep breath, heart pounding and her thoughts racing. She couldn't attack physically, she didn't have a hope of being able to do anything to physically help Sherlock right now, she would likely get herself seriously injured more than anything else, and while her own physical condition was a minimal concern to her right now, she knew that it was far from ideal. She also knew that once she jumped in the water, she was going to be severely disadvantaged by pretty much everything, from her clothing to her lack of physical fighting ability, and then there was also the high risk that she could end up triggering a panic attack if she submerged herself or was accidently pushed under the water, even by Sherlock. She couldn't afford to take that risk right now. But there was still something she might be able to do on dry land to gain the upper hand…She looked back over to where the bust had been left in the open duffle bag, while a gun had been dropped a few feet away from that. She dashed across to both just as Sherlock and his assailant rose from the depths of the pool, still fighting while the other man, who appeared to be of Indian descent, tried to chock Sherlock. She grabbed the bust and the gun, whirling back around to face the pool with the gun grasped firmly in her right hand.

"Hey!" she yelled, glaring back at the pool as the Indian man and Sherlock continued to grapple with each other, spinning around as the other man latched his hands around Sherlock's neck, clearly trying to strangle him. She marched over to stand just on the edge of where the shattered glass had fallen, struggling to keep the fear she felt for Sherlock from crossing her face, "Let him go, or I'll destroy the bust!"

Sadly, her words only had a minimal impact, and Amelia rolled her eyes in exasperation and instead repositioned the gun so that it was aimed up towards the ceiling, silently apologising to the homeowner before pulling the trigger. A loud bang thundered through the air and she grimaced as her hand shook from the slight kickback of the weapon and the noise, while some dust floated down from the ceiling and a chunk of plaster was blasted off, leaving a large chunk missing. But it did finally pull both men's attention back to her and she smirked slightly as she looked back into the pool to find both men had turned to look back up to her, their fight momentarily paused as the fairly young, Indian man appeared to be preparing to dunk Sherlock back beneath the water.

"I guess that's one way to get a guys attention," Amelia remarked lightly, flexing her fingers on the gun as discreetly as she could. She hadn't fired a gun since high school…, "I must admit, usually my smile is enough…I'm almost insulted".

"Who the hell are you?" the man demanded, glaring back up at her from the pool furiously, while Sherlock closed his eyes in exasperation, looking as though he was close to wanting to smack his head repeatedly against the pool wall.

Amelia lifted an eyebrow, peering almost boredly back at the man, "I'm the one who is about to destroy your precious bust and the secret held within it," she told him, pointedly aiming the tip of the gun directly at the temple of the bust carefully balanced on the palm of her left hand. It was a rather weighty thing, for a plaster bust, but she tried to counter that by keeping her arm and elbow close to her body, "Or…" she smiled mock charmingly back at the man, "Counter proposal, the three of us can all have a nice, civilised chat and we can put all these dramatics on hold for a few minutes".

The man suddenly grabbed Sherlock roughly and swung him around so that his back was to the assailant, wrapping his arm around Sherlock's throat from behind, while Sherlock attempted to kick backwards and elbow the man, but the man, who had no doubt planned for that, merely grunted as one of the hits got him, but rather then release Sherlock, he shoved him back beneath the water, his arm still wrapped around his throat. Amelia struggled to keep her expression clear of emotion, while her heart pounded sickeningly in her chest and she felt her palms begin to sweat. It was almost too much for her to bare seeing Sherlock struggling as he was held beneath the rippling, turning water, while the other man grimaced and fought to keep him down.

"Give me the bust or I'll drown him!" the man called back up to her, his face screwed up with the effort of trying to keep Sherlock down. Sherlock wasn't giving up without a fight though, Amelia could see his blurred body struggling, kicking and clawing and hitting at any part of the man he could try and get, but he was at some disadvantage as the man, though clearly struggling, managed to take whatever blow that did land with surprising ease. Evidently this was a man who had been through a lot of pain and survived it all.

Amelia glared coldly back at him, tightening her grip on the smooth, curved surface of the pistol, "Kill him and the you'll have much bigger concerns then whatever is inside this bust," she warned him in a dangerously calm voice, shocking even herself at just how deadly serious she felt. It was almost as though her brain had been switched into hyper-focus, "If Sherlock Holmes is harmed in anyway, I will raise an empire devoted entirely to hunting you down and just as you think you've escaped, I will take you down in ways that you haven't even predicted yet. I'm James Moriarty's sister," she lifted her chin proudly, her tone not wavering from the chilling calm that had settled over her, "Do some research and tell me again that you will drown him".

She didn't really know where it came from, but she knew with all her heart that every word she said was completely true. If anything happened to Sherlock, John, Molly, Lestrade, Mrs Hudson…hell, even the rest of the Holmes family, she would be completely prepared to do whatever she felt she had to in order to get justice for what happened to them. She wasn't James, but she was a Moriarty by blood and a Moriarty didn't just let things slide, no, they got even, with blood, if need be. She was more than willing to do just that, morality and ethics be demanded if someone she loved was harmed in anyway. It wouldn't even be hard for her to gain support from those that she would ordinarily considerer to be vile human beings, the sort of people that James had dealt with, she had his last name, after all. If needed, she could build her own empire, just like he had, but for a very different purpose and reason then just power and sick pleasure, and God help the person that tried to get in her way.

"James Moriarty?" the man frowned in confusion, staring back up at her with dark, blank eyes at the name, making her blink slightly in surprise, "Who the hell is that?"

Amelia couldn't help being actually quite thrown by that question, how could he not know who James was? The entire world knew the story, or at least they knew most of it, how James had actually been the criminal mastermind who had framed Sherlock into being a fraud and a murderer, made all the more famous by the return of Sherlock and Amelia seemingly back from the dead two years later. It was talked about in the media for ages, even now people still brought it up from time to time in the press, Amelia and her friends were still classed as being something of low grade celebrities, somewhere on a similar level to one of those Instagram models, but with perhaps more creditability. Still…how could he not at least vaguely recognise the name James Moriarty? Unless…she frowned deeply, eyeing him thoughtfully, how he had barely flinched at the blows Sherlock had inflicted upon him, which she knew would have made most men drop, and then there was the nasty, deep scar that ran down his left cheek, beneath his eye. Was it possible that he had been held captured, perhaps, and tortured, explaining his lack of comprehension at the name?

She was still puzzling over it all, when Sherlock managed to land a blow against the man, who had been seemingly distracted for a second to long as he had stared up at Amelia in bafflement. The man gave a loud, pained howl and fell sideways in the pool, as though his left leg had gone out from beneath him and Sherlock, taking his chance, seemed to deliver a second blow that sent the man backwards and down under the water, just as Sherlock popped up from the choppy water surface with a gasp of air and his drenched curls covering his face. Amelia immediately dropped the gun on the kitchen bench, though logically she knew that perhaps she should keep the gun under the current circumstances, she personally thought it wiser to keep a hold of the bust, since it was what the mystery man was truly after. She dashed through the shattered window as Sherlock waded as quickly as possible through the chest deep water to the edge of the pool towards her, where she momentarily sat the bust down to crouch down on the glass shards to reach out to grab his hands to help pull him up.

"What are you doing here?" was the first thing to leave his lips as he actually shot her a dark look, reaching out to grab her hands, already spraying her with water.

"Trying to stop you from getting yourself beaten to a bloody pulp, Holmes!" she replied shortly, tightening her hand on his hands and helping pull him up, while he brought his knee up to brace himself on the edge of the pool. She rolled her eyes at his attitude, though she hadn't exactly expected him to be so grateful to see her that he'd suddenly give her a movie worthy kiss for coming to his rescue, "I mean, honestly," she grimaced, scoffing, "A 'Thank you, Amelia' would be nice, for once…"

Sherlock went to respond, giving her another small glare that told her already that she wasn't about to be thanked, when the other man suddenly came up out of the water from behind Sherlock, grabbing the back of his sodden blazer and roughly trying to pull him back with a furious cry. Amelia, barely comprehending what she was doing, dropped Sherlock's hands to grab the bust and brought it down over the other man's head. He gave a funny, chocked grunt and fell backwards away from the edge of the pool and back into the water, just as Sherlock managed to pull himself completely up out of the pool and climbed back onto his own feet, throwing Amelia a look that actually looked caught between surprise and impressed. Amelia blinked slightly and brought the bust up to her chest, almost as though she was cradling it.

"Please tell me I didn't just kill him?" she bit her painted lips nervously, but she had barely spoken before the man broke back up through the surface of the water, looking positively murderous as he almost seemed to breath fire as he looked directly at Amelia.

"Evidently not," Sherlock remarked as he reached out to place a hand firmly on her lower back, eyeing the other man as he began to move towards them, thankfully hindered by his heavy black clothing and still, no doubt, a little dazed by the blow to the head, "He does, however, appear to be planning to ensure that you die very soon, Amelia".

"You could say that with a little more concern, Sherlock".

He actually smirked at that, which Amelia might have rolled her eyes at, had she not been nervously regarding the other man who truly did seem to be planning her very immediate, painful death as he drew closer to the edge of the pool and began pulling himself up over the edge. She hastily began to back away and Sherlock followed closely by her side, so closely that they were pressed against one another, the left side of Amelia's jumper instantly growing wet just from the close contact as they backed all the way back into the kitchen area.

"He's not working for James, Sherlock," Amelia said quickly as she continued to watch as the other man pulled himself from the pool, dripping wet and already moving towards them, slightly hunched over, as though preparing to barrel towards them the second they dropped their guard. She felt Sherlock's hand on her back press slightly firmer into her, his fingers tightening on the wool of her jumper, but not painfully so. She had the strangest sense that he was feeling worried for her safety and was preparing to pull her behind him or out of the way, should the man attempt anything. She swallowed under the intense glare of the other man as he stepped through the shattered window, staring back at him as his gaze flickered between the detectives, calculating and violent, "I told you this wasn't about him, and I was proven right. He doesn't even know who James was".

Sherlock shook his head, a frown crossing his still wet face, "But I know it's him," he insisted, not taking his gaze other the other man, nor relaxing his grip on Amelia's jumper…if it was any other time, she might have scolded him for possibly damaging the Scottish wool, "It must be him".

"You think you understand," the man sneered back at them, leaning slightly lopsidedly, his left knee evidently still sore after the blow Sherlock had given it to free himself, "You understand nothing".

"Well, before the police come in and spoil things," Sherlock said mockingly, giving the other man a brief, sarcastic smile, still slightly out of breath, "Why don't we just enjoy the moment?" he glanced across to Amelia, who, without needing to be asked, held the bust up before them all with a slight lift to her eyebrows as she regarded the man closely as his gaze immediately zoned in on the bust. Sherlock held his hand not still screwed up in the fabric of Amelia's jumper out towards the bust, glaring coldly back across to the other man, "Let us present Interpol's number one case".

"Six years they've struggled with this one," Amelia remarked with almost ideal interest as she pulled her gaze off the other man to peer at the bust, considering it thoughtfully, "They never once came close to even solving it, and then they came to us," she smirked slyly, "I can't wait to see their faces when I break the news to them that I solved it within practically days of taking the case. Ah, I do love the sweet smell of victory".

And with that, grasping the bust between both of her hands, she brought it up above her head and then down as hard as she could, so that it smashed onto the floor between the three of them, sending shards of plaster and dust scattering across the flooring, while the man flinched.

"The Black Pearl of the Borgias," Sherlock smiled smugly, and looked down at the shattered remains of the bust…only to freeze.

Amelia's breath seemed to catch in her throat and her eyes widened in shock as she peered down at the remains of the bust. There wasn't any sign of a pearl, as she had expected, it was so much more than that, so much worse. She barely seemed to comprehend what she was seeing for a second as she stared down at the silver memory stick sitting amidst the broken plaster and dust on the floor, but not just any ordinary memory stick, but the one that Mary had given John, exactly the same, right down to the texture lettering scrawled across the side of the memory stick in black, spelling out 'A.G.R.A'. But…it wasn't possible, she knew for a fact that John had destroyed that memory stick and everything it had contained, never having even looked at it, last Christmas when they had been at the Holmes house. This was another memory stick, seemingly exactly the same. Beside her, seeming just as stunned as Amelia felt, Sherlock slowly began to sink down into a crouch before the memory stick, staring transfixed at it.

"It's not possible," he breathed, his face screwed up in confusion as he reached out towards the device, "How could she…?" he broke off, shaking his head as he plucked it off the ground.

Amelia struggled to make sense of what had just happened, feeling oddly dazed and light headed as her mind raced to try and come up with a logical explanation. That memory stick had contained Mary's past on it, it was enough the completely destroy her and now the family that she had built with John, there was no way that she would have kept a copy of it. Amelia knew Mary wouldn't have done that, she knew it in her heart that she would never have placed her daughter and John at risk like that, but aside from that, how had it ended up being hidden away inside a plaster bust for these past six years? It just…made little sense to her stunned brain. She reached out to touch Sherlock's shoulder as he remained crouched, almost as though she was trying to ground herself, neither realising that the other man was reaching for the gun she had stupidly left lying on the kitchen counter.

"I…don't understand," she swallowed, blinking slowly as she curled her fingers into the sodden fabric of Sherlock's blazer, "Sherlock, how can it be the same memory stick?" she asked, almost with a note of pleading in her tone, feeling sick just thinking of what the information on that memory stick could do to John and Mary, and the family they had made, "She destroyed it, I know she did".

"'She?'" the man suddenly spoke up, his voice full of scathing. Amelia flinched at the sound of his voice and her eyes snapped off Sherlock's back, over to the man, finding him glaring back at them, anguished tears filling his brown eyes with the gun now clutched in his hand. He brought it up to aim directly on Amelia, who slowly lifted her left hand, keeping her right twisted in Sherlock's blazer. He stared back at her, the gun shaking very slightly, "You know her," he realised, and Amelia eyed the gun pointed at her warily, while Sherlock frowned and lifted his head, tensing at the sight of the weapon and more importantly, who it was trained on, "You do, don't you?" his grip on the gun grew more steady, his expression hardening with anger, "You know the bitch. She betrayed me, betrayed us all".

Police sirens filled the air, then, followed by the sound of car tires on gravel and flashing blue lights spilled through the glazed over window of a nearby door that led out to the front of the house. Amelia wasn't calmed by the arrival of the police, however, swallowing hard as she kept her hand lifted in a sign of surrender and her eyes flickering nervously between the barrel of the gun aimed at her chest and back to the man holding the weapon, his face screwed up with fury. But the man's words still hit her, almost like a slap. This had all been about Mary, this entire case was about someone who had been hunting her down, tracking the one thing that revolved around Mary's past, and clearly it wasn't because this man wanted to have a nice catch up session with his old friend.

"Mary," Sherlock said slowly, snapping out of his dazed state at the sight of Amelia being held practically at gunpoint. He slowly began to rise from the crouch, placing himself just that little bit more in front of Amelia, and predictably the man immediately repositioned the gun so that it was aimed on him, instead. He narrowed his eyes on the man, "This is about Mary".

Amelia's eyes widen, her head snapping back around to stare at Sherlock. He had practically just handed the man everything he needed to get Mary, and Sherlock only seemed to notice after the words had left his lips as a brief flash of regret crossed his features, before smoothing out into a cool, blank mask. It was too late; of course, the man immediately lifted an eyebrow.

"Is that what she's calling herself now, eh?" the man sneered, his voice dark and chilling.

"Armed police!" Lestrade's voice suddenly sounded through the air from outside, boosted by a loudspeaker, "You're surrounded!"

The man glanced very briefly past Sherlock and Amelia, towards the door, tightening his grip on the gun as he looked back to them, a look of urgency filling his scarred features, "Give it to me," he demanded, but Sherlock made little move to hand over the memory stick, and the man's features twisted with anger again, "Give it to me!" he shouted, almost shaking with fury now, before aiming the gun back on Amelia, "Give it to me or I'll shoot her!"

"Shooting me won't make matters any better for you," Amelia said as calmly as she possibly could with a gun trained at her heart. Sherlock reached a hand back across her front, lightly pushing her a step back and behind him, not taking his sharp, calculating gaze off the other man. She refused to back down, however, though she was grateful for the gesture, eyeing the man with cool eyes, "Trust me, you kill me and I'd love to see how long you will fair when you have Sherlock Holmes and Doctor John Watson after you".

"I do believe you're rather missing the point, Amelia," Sherlock remarked lightly, though his expression hadn't wavered, nor softened as he glared down the other man, if anything his expression had only hardened and his eyes grown colder then Amelia recalled seeing for quite some time. If her life and Sherlock's, for that matter, wasn't currently under threat, she might have rather enjoyed how protective he was right now, it was rather rare to see.

"Come out slowly!" Lestrade called again over the loudspeaker once again, "I wanna see your hands above your head!"

The man didn't so much as blink, "Nobody shoots me!" he shouted back to Lestrade, not taking his eyes off Sherlock and Amelia, "Anyone shoots me, I kill this man and woman!"

"Lay down your weapon! Do it now!"

"I'm leaving this place!" the man called loudly, slowly edging off towards the kitchen, obviously intending to do a semi-circle around Amelia and Sherlock as they stood between him and the door. He kept the gun firmly trained on Amelia as he did so, though Sherlock and Amelia carefully turned on the spot, keeping eye contact with him as he moved. He raised his voice again as he yelled, "If no-one follows me, no-one dies!"

"Lay down your weapon!"

"You're police!" he scoffed loudly, briefly glancing towards the door as he continued edging along the other side of the kitchen island, separating him from Sherlock and Amelia as they watched him tensely, "I'm a professional!" he turned his hard, cold gaze back onto the detectives, lowering his voice as he said threateningly, "Tell her she's a dead woman. She's a dead woman walking".

Amelia lifted her chin higher, her eyes growing icy, "That's our friend you're speaking of," she told him with an edge to her voice, because despite the fact that Mary might have once shot Sherlock and almost killed him, she had redeemed herself in Amelia's eyes since that time, she had forgiven her for it. And more than that, Mary was important to John, that made her important to Amelia, and if you were important to Amelia, then threats made against that person wasn't just going to be left to slide.

"And she's under our protection," Sherlock added with narrowed, hard eyes fixed firmly on the other man, though his voice remained very calm and steady, "Who are you?"

The man held his gaze, his breathing growing slightly heavier as he shifted his weight carefully, "I'm the man…who's gonna kill your friend," he practically growled, his voice shaking with rage, "Who's Sherlock Holmes".

"Not a policeman," Sherlock replied simply, the threat clear in his word, though his tone still remained perfectly at ease.

The man didn't speak; in fact he barely even seemed to blink, before he suddenly pulled the gun away from Amelia's direction and aimed it at back across the room towards where a light sensor panel was on the wall by the door into the swimming pool, firing a single shot at it. Immediately, the room was thrown into darkness and shadows, while a high pitched alarm began whirring through the room and amidst it, the sound of heavy boots hitting the floor as their mystery assailant took off running. Neither Amelia, nor Sherlock made any attempt to go after him, standing together in the gloom, just able to make out each other from the blue lighting of the swimming pool, but as Amelia finally released the breath that she had been holding and allowed her shoulders to relax, she glanced across to Sherlock, finding him peering down at his open palm, which she knew contained the memory stick.

"I can't believe this is actually happening," she breathed, reaching up to run a hand over her still styled hair, though some of the pins had come loose over the course of the day, thankfully her hairspray kept it largely in place. She closed her eyes briefly, shaking her head, "Poor Mary and John, after everything they've overcome, how happy they both are".

"Secrets usually don't stay buried," Sherlock murmured, lifting his head, his face hidden by the shadows, but she could feel his gaze on her face as she opened her eyes. He sighed heavily and he seemed to pocket the memory stick safely in his inner breast pocket of his blazer, "I thought you were staying at Baker Street," he went on, and Amelia could practically hear the eyebrow raised in his tone.

She smirked, though she knew it would be lost to the shadows, "You should be grateful I did come," she remarked lightly, eyeing him in the darkness, "He might have drowned you, Holmes".

"I had it perfectly under control, Amelia".

"Oh, of course you did," she scoffed, laughing faintly at the slight annoyance in his tone. She reached out and took his hand, entwining her fingers with him, "That's why you decided to have a little snuggle in the pool, isn't it? Why, I'm almost jealous!"

"For God's sake…" Sherlock huffed loudly, his eye roll practically palpable as Amelia laughed again, tugging him slightly closer to her. He heaved a large, weighty sigh, though he allowed her to press herself against his chest, making little move to step away from her as he peered at her through the dark, "You could have got yourself killed, Amelia," he reminded her pointedly, and while his tone remained annoyed, Amelia still detected the faint sliver of concern that he slipped in his words.

Her playfulness faded and instead and she considered his shadowed features curiously for a moment, his cheek bones seemed even stronger in this light, while she could barely make out his eyes, but she still felt the weight of them on her, "Were you worried for me, William?" she asked softly, practically feeling his heart beating through his sodden clothing and her now damp jumper, standing so close.

"Must I really answer that?"

"No," she smiled gently, shaking her head lightly, warmed by the sense of safety and affection she felt from him, as though nothing could touch them. She brought her over hand up to press over his heart, feeling it beating through his firm chest, while she felt Sherlock's right hand move around to press against her lower back, "No, Holmes, you really don't".

….

Amelia sighed slightly as she lightly pressed a ice pack wrapped up in a clean, white and blue checked tea towel over Sherlock's left eye, which had began to bruise by the time they had returned to Baker Street and Sherlock had finished changing into something a little more dry and chlorine free, sadly that also meant that her personal favourite plum coloured shirt that he had worn would need to be sent off to be dry cleaned, replacing it with a light, blue-grey shirt instead. She had insisted that he sit down in his armchair, ignoring his complaints as she settled herself on the armrest and pressed the ice pack over his eye with a glare that warned him of a fight if he was going to be difficult about this. Sherlock, being the wise man that he was, relented with a sigh and conceded to her wishes.

"I don't suppose you could have stepped in a few minutes earlier," Sherlock remarked with an exasperated tone as he remained seated, though Amelia knew he likely would have preferred to be pacing right now, absently toying with the memory stick in his hand as it rested on the arm rest to his right, "Obviously you were there for the fight before I ended up in the pool".

"You're just sour that you didn't notice what I was planning, Sherlock," Amelia said lightly, feeling her own fingers covering the ice pack beginning to chill through the fabric of the dish towel, her legs crossed as she perched on the armrest with ease. She hadn't bothered to change her own clothing yet, though she had sprayed herself with more of her favoured perfume to try and cover up the smell of pool, which tended to bring back unpleasant memories.

"Yes, well done," he glanced at her from out of the corner of his right eye, his lips thinning slightly, "I actually believed you when you agreed to remain here. Once again, it would seem, I underestimated you, Amelia".

She smirked teasingly back at him, "Good," she shrugged lightly then, glancing away from him, "But honestly, Sherlock, if you want a girlfriend who is going to stay home and watch telly, while you go about solving crimes, then perhaps you ought to get another girlfriend".

He watched her from the corner of his eye for a long moment, his features softening with affection and warmth, and his lips twisting into a faint smile, "Sounds terribly dull," he said eventually.

Amelia smiled back at him, feeling her cheeks warming slightly under the look in his gaze, before she cleared her throat and glanced down at the memory stick he was toying with still. Her brief moment of calm and happiness seemed to burst at the sight of it, and she sighed heavily.

"I don't suppose there's any chance that it's just a fake?"

Sherlock's expression instantly grew harder, his dropping onto the device held between his slim, pale fingers with a deep frown, "It's real," he said softly, considering it.

She swallowed, hard, and focused her attention back onto the ice pack and the numbing sensation spreading through her fingertips. She had hoped desperately that he would say it was a fake, a very good fake, but still just a fake, though she had known it was real. The second she had laid eyes upon that memory stick, she knew it was real, there was no trick involved, even if she wished for Mary and John's sake that it was. The man who had tried to get it had been far too desperate to get his hands on the thing, then there was the way he had reacted to the mention of Mary. He didn't just hate Mary, he despised her. She was pulled from her dark thoughts by the living room door opening and Lestrade stepping through, and almost immediately she and Sherlock were focusing on him.

"Well?" Sherlock asked at once, sitting up straighter in his chair. Amelia even lowered the ice pack from his eye, which didn't seem in danger of swelling now, turning to regard Lestrade with sharp eyes.

Lestrade shook his head grimly, his lips pressing into a brief, regretful line as Sherlock and Amelia exchanged a quick look, "He can't have got far," he told them, clearly trying to cheer them up, "We'll have him in a bit".

"You sound so sure, Lestrade," Amelia remarked with a sigh, giving him a faint frown as Sherlock rolled his eyes and reached into his blazer pocket, fishing out his phone. Lestrade lifted an eyebrow at her as she continued grimly, "You really shouldn't be".

"Why?"

Sherlock rose from his armchair, still tapping away on his phone, "Because I think he used to work with Mary," he replied, glancing briefly at Amelia, before turning and walking past Lestrade, disappearing out the door.

Lestrade blinked slowly and looked blankly back to Amelia, but she could only give him a strained smile in return, also standing and moving to grab her tan trench coat that she had left draped over the couch, before moving to follow after Sherlock downstairs as she pulled the coat on. She was really not looking forward to this next bit.

….

The wait for Mary's arrival seemed to take an age to Amelia, but in reality it couldn't have been longer then forty minutes. Amelia positively dreaded what was to come, though she knew it was required, she supposed she was just pleased that she and Sherlock had both agreed to keep John out of the matter until they had more information directly from Mary's lips. They had to detach themselves from the emotional side of this whole mess and involving John right now would not help in that regard, Amelia was already struggling enough as it was to try and view it as any other case, while even Sherlock seemed to be making an effort to keep himself from being overwhelmed by concern. They both liked Mary, after all, but more than that they both loved John, and if something happened to Mary they knew it would hurt John and that was something neither of them could stand to consider. Not even Sherlock Holmes could deny that fact.

Of course, they couldn't risk having this meeting back at Baker Street, not while a highly trained, professional spy and assassin was running around London with a vendetta against Mary. It would be painfully ease for the man to have done just a simple Google search on them and he would discover everything he needed to track them down, and once he had they couldn't take the risk that he wouldn't be watching Baker Street for any sign of Mary paying them a call, even if it was well into the early hours of the morning now and pouring with ran outside. So instead, Sherlock had arranged for the meeting to take place in one of his many boltholes around the city, one that even Amelia had never been to, though she was aware of its location and existence. It was rather fitting, actually, that the meeting should be held in the vault beneath an old church, the floor made up of impacted dirt and the walls the stone foundations of the church above them, while thick tree roots grew and tangled from above the low ceiling and through the walls. The vault itself was rather small, though it had been set up with a ancient, dirty couch that had tattered blankets covering it, obviously designed for one to sleep on, if desperate enough, though Amelia thought that she would rather sleep in one of the hard, plastic chairs that had been set up on the other side of the room, along with a slightly more modern metal framed desk with a lit desk light and an open laptop. The rest of the room was largely darkened, the only other light coming from the few lamps dotted around the room. The air smelt strongly of damp earth and mildew.

Amelia remained seated on one of the plastic chairs, her legs propped up on top of a second chair across from her, her ankles crossed on top of each other as she sagged in the chair. It was slightly uncomfortable, the top of the back of the chair was digging into her upper back and the room itself was quite chilly, forcing her to keep her hands stuffed inside her pockets while they waited, silent and tense. There was nothing either could say right now, Amelia felt too upset to try making conversation, while Sherlock seemed similarly content to remain silent himself as he sat in the shadows a short distance away from her, his face, though obscured by darkness, hard and grave.

The sound of the metal door guarding this little hideaway creaked suddenly, and Amelia closed her eyes tightly, listening as footsteps sounded on the old stone steps, before a figure emerged from the archway at the end of the vault, dressed in a hooded coat that was soaked from the rain, the hood pulled up over the person's head. The figure threw it back, smiling cheerfully as Mary's eyes met Amelia's, holding a lit torch in her hand by her side. Amelia didn't have the heart to return the smile, looking sadly back at Mary, who barely seemed to notice.

"I am an idiot," Sherlock spoke from out of the shadows, as if he couldn't be more dramatic enough as it was, "I know nothing".

Mary smirked, throwing Amelia another grin as she switched her torch off, slipping it back inside her coat pocket, "Well, I've been telling you that for ages," she commented with far more cheer then she really should have right now, it made Amelia feel slightly ill, watching her, "Never mind Amelia, she tells you that at least once a day," she paused briefly, frowning as she looked at Amelia, as though waiting for her to jump in with some sort of playful agreement, but Amelia simply gazed back at her with a miserable expression. Slowly, she shifted on the spot, her frown deepening as it seemed to dawn on her that something serious was wrong, her eyes flickering between the detectives warily, "That was quite some text you sent me, Sherlock," she said slowly, casting him a long look, "What's going on?"

"I was so convinced it was Moriarty," Sherlock sighed, rising from his chair and stepping out into the light, while Amelia uncrossed her ankles and dropped her boots onto the floor, though she made no move to stand, "I couldn't see what was right under my nose," he shook his head as he moved closer to Mary, who was eyeing him in concern now as he avoided meeting her eyes, "Amelia knew differently, of course, she knew the whole time it wasn't Moriarty," he glanced back over to Amelia, who took little pleasure in being right, her expression sullen, "But I didn't listen, I didn't want to believe differently. But we still both expected a pearl…" he reached into his pocket and withdrew the memory stick, holding it between his fingers as he lightly twirled it around, until the lettering scrawled across it was clearly on display for Mary to see.

Mary's face paled and she took a half-step back, looking caught between shock and horror at the sight of the device in his hand, "Oh my God," she gasped, walking quickly over to him, not taking her gaze off the memory stick for a second, "That's a…"

"Yes, it is," Amelia cut in, her hands still stuffed in the pocket of her coat as she rose from her chair, moving to stand beside Sherlock. She looked at Mary as she spoke, however, her voice heavy with regret, "It's the very same memory stick that you gave to John, the one containing all your deepest, darkest secrets…but this one wasn't your memory stick, it belonged to someone else," her eyes grew sharper, more intent as Mary stared transfixed at the device, "Care to enlighten us?"

"I don't know," she shook her head, finally lifting her eyes from the memory stick to glance between Sherlock and Amelia, who watched her closely, "We…we all had one, but the others w…" she began, gesturing towards the device, before shaking her head again, more firmly, "Well, haven't you even looked at it yet?"

"We glanced at it," Sherlock replied, narrowing his eyes on her, "But I'd prefer to hear it from you".

"We both would, actually," Amelia added, curling her hands in the depths of her pockets. She had only taken a brief look through the files that were contained on the memory stick, just enough for her to be satisfied that it was real and not just an elaborate fake, after all, for her own sake, otherwise she feared she might not have fully believed it. But what she had seen had been quite enough, though she knew that Mary was once an assassin and spy, somehow actually seeing the cold, hard proof of what she had once done was difficult to comprehend when she knew the woman that Mary was today. She didn't judge Mary for any of her past actions, mind, she didn't judge her for being practically a gun for hire and the lives she had taken, but she understood now why Mary had been so desperate for John not to see. That was a difficult thing to swallow, for anyone.

"Why?" Mary asked, frowning as her eyes flickered between them.

"Because we'll know the truth when we hear it," Sherlock said without hesitating, eyeing her carefully.

Mary scoffed and turned away from them, "Oh, Sherlock, Amelia…" she sighed, her voice barely a whisper, shaking her head as she walked several paces, before pausing. She turned back around to face them, her expression hard as she met their eyes again, seemingly setting her resolve to tell them the truth, at long last, "There were four of us. Agents".

"Not just agents," he corrected her with a shake of his head, fixing her with a pointed look.

"Polite term," she told them with a look of her own, "Alex, Gabriel, me, and Ajay," she pointed a finger across the room and back at the device clasped in his hand, "There was absolute trust between us," she explained as they listened intently, "The memory sticks guaranteed it. We all had one, each containing aliases, our background, everything. We could never be betrayed because we had everything we needed to destroy the other".

"Mutual shared destruction," Amelia murmured, her eyebrows lifted with interest, and Mary nodded in agreement, her lips pressing into a thin line briefly. Her mouth quirked upwards into a humourless smile, though her gaze remained cool as she gazed back at Mary, "How very Cold War".

"Who employed you?" Sherlock questioned, still watching Mary closely.

"Anyone who paid well," Mary said with a small shrug, and Amelia frowned at her, finding that answer far too vague for her taste. She seemed to notice and sighed, "I mean, we were at the top of our game for years, and then it all ended," she gave a half-shrug then, her eyes growing almost sad, "There was a coup in Georgia. The British embassy in Tbilisi was taken over, lots of hostages. We got the call to go in, get them out. There was a change of plan, a last-minute adjustment".

Amelia frowned deeply again, "Who made the call?" she asked sharply, finding it odd that such a call would have been made while Mary and her team had been out in the middle of the field, surely such a thing was usually already well laid out and planned before sending them in in the first place?

"I don't know. Just another voice on the phone, and a code word, 'Ammo'".

"'Ammo?'" Sherlock repeated with a slight narrowing of his eyes, while Amelia could only shake her head slowly, trying to puzzle it over.

She pulled a slight face, evidently not having a clue herself, "Like 'ammunition,'" She said with another shrug, smiling slightly in bemusement, before continuing as Sherlock and Amelia exchanged a thoughtful look, "We went in, but then something went wrong. Something went really wrong…" her expression grew slightly darker with the memories, "There was a gun fight, I don't know what happened, it was chaos. But one moment I was surrounded by my team, the next it was just me," she took a deep breath, almost as though she was trying to push aside those dark memories to focus back on the present, "That was six years ago. Feels like forever," her tone grew softer, "I was the only one who made it out".

"You're wrong," Amelia told her without blinking, far more bluntly then she perhaps meant to.

Mary instantly frowned, eyeing Amelia in confusion, "What?"

Sherlock turned to step across to the desk he had set up off to the side of them, where his laptop was sitting open, reaching out to pick it up with one hand, "We met someone tonight," he said as he lifted the computer on an angle to insert the memory stick into one of the side ports, while carrying the computer across to another desk, "The same someone who's looking for the sixth Thatcher".

Amelia watched Mary closely, while Sherlock placed the laptop down on the desk and quickly brought up the old surveillance pictures and a fake ID of the same man who had attacked them tonight, photos that had been stored on the drive under the name 'Ajay'. It had been an interesting little find for the detectives, who had immediately recognised the man, though the pictures didn't carry the same scars as the man alive today did. The brunet observed Mary as she slowly approached the laptop, stepping around to get a closer look of the screen, and her eyes widened in shock and delight as she quickly bent closer to the laptop, staring at the pictures with something close to affection.

"Oh my God," she breathed, disbelief filling her voice, "That's Ajay. What, he's alive?" her head whipped back around to look at Sherlock and Amelia, hope filling her features.

"Yeah, very much so," Sherlock scowled very slightly, reaching up to lightly brush his fingertips over the bruise under his left eye…he supposed he had to thank Amelia for her insistence on icing it before he ended up with a swollen eye, though it seemed rather dangerous to give her to much credit. She would only grin and bat her eyelashes as him with an infuriating, though oddly attractive knowing look of hers.

"He hasn't let himself go, either," Amelia commented with a very slight upturn to her lips, her lipstick almost completely gone by now as she shot Sherlock a small smirk, "He certainly gave Sherlock a decent go around".

Sherlock gave her a dark look at that, lowering his hand from his cheek, but she simply smiled wider and winked, as though knowing exactly what he had just been thinking.

"I don't believe this!" Mary barely seemed to be listening to them, however, peering in delighted surprise at the computer screen, her voice slightly breathless with wonder, "This is amazing! I thought I was the only one. I thought I was the only one who got out," she quickly turned back towards the detectives, straightening as she looked almost frantically between them, "Where is he? I need to see him now!"

"Mary, please just take a breath for a second," Amelia urged her gently, slipping a hand from her coat pocket to hold it up in a calming gesture, regarding Mary's desperate, wide eyes with a very grave expression, "Now, before you go dashing off to try tracking him down yourself, there's a few things you need to know, and some questions that you still need to answer for us," she gestured between herself and Sherlock as she spoke, while Mary's urgency faulted slightly, frowning as Amelia looked at her intently, "Firstly, before you gave John your memory stick, are you positive it was safe? No one else could have gained access to it?"

"Yeah, of course it was safe," she said at once, giving her a deep frown, "It was our insurance. Above all, they mustn't fall into enemy hands".

Sherlock nodded slowly, "So Ajay survived as well," he said with surprising gentleness, trying to break the news to Mary as carefully as possible, as he and Amelia had agreed. But they had both hoped that Mary might be able to figure it out for herself, with enough of the pieces of the puzzle, "And now he's looking for the memory stick he managed to hide with all AGRA's old aliases on it. But why?" he gave her a very steady, pointed look.

"I don't know!"

"Six years is a very long time, Mary," Amelia remarked, her voice soft as she regarded the other woman with gentle, kind eyes. She even reached out to place a hand comfortingly on Mary's arm, ignoring the raindrops still soaking the waterproof fabric, "Just…think about it, just for a moment…Where has he been all these years? Why not reach out to you if he had survived? Why not at least try to track you down before now?"

Mary stared back at her for a long moment; a hopeless sort of expression flickering past her features as her shoulders slumped, curving in on herself. Amelia could see that she understood what they were trying to say, she could see it in the way that she was looking back at her with a desperate, almost plea in her gaze, practically pleading with them to tell her that it was all just a big mistake, after all. But there was still a part of her that didn't want to believe it as she slowly dropped her eyes to the ground and shook her head lightly. Amelia sighed heavily and glanced at Sherlock, biting her bottom lip anxiously. How were you supposed to tell someone that someone they once trusted with their life, now wanted to kill you?

Sherlock met her eyes and drew in a slow, deep breath before focusing his attention back onto Mary, "Mary," he began, and though his voice was firm, it still carried a note of gentleness to it that he ordinarily wouldn't have showed to anyone outside of their tight-knit circle. Mary lifted her gaze up to meet his again, though almost reluctantly, "I'm sorry to tell you this, but he wants you dead".

She laughed in disbelief, shaking her head as she looked between them as though they had lost their minds, "Sorry, no, no…" she continued laughing, smiling widely as she glanced back towards the photo of Ajay on the laptop screen, "'Cause we…we were family".

"Not every family is a happy one," Amelia pointed out quietly, giving her a sympathetic look. She couldn't even begin to imagine how hard this must be for Mary, how awful it must have to be to hear the happiness that an old and trust friend had survived when you had believed them to have died years ago, only to then learn that they were trying to kill you. At least with her own family, she had always known that James would eventually try to kill her, it kind of took some of the sting out of it. She squeezed Mary's arm through the thick, wet fabric of her coat, "Why else would Ajay be after the memory stick, Mary? He knows it has everything he needs on it to track you down, and he also knows that you're the only one who got out alive. He's literally killed to try and get it, and now he's coming for you".

Mary looked back across to the computer, frowning slightly, "Well, he's just trying to find me," she shook her head, her tone growing defensive as she looked sharply back up to Amelia and Sherlock, "He survived. That's all that matters!"

"We heard it from his own mouth," Sherlock told her very seriously, his tone firm and certain, "'Tell her she's a dead woman walking'".

She swallowed, hard, her eyes flickering cautiously between them as, for the first time, she truly seemed to be starting to believe them in her heart, "Why would he want to kill me?" she asked, her voice growing softer and her forehead creasing with open concern.

"It's…hard to know for sure yet," Amelia said slowly, eyeing her closely as she shifted slightly uncomfortably. She licked her lips and sighed heavily, "But he did say that you betrayed him, Mary…"

"Oh, no, no, no, that's insane," she shook her head firmly, cutting across Amelia, confusion and disgust filling her features at the mere thought of having betrayed her old friend. She turned away from them to look back at the computer.

"That may be so," she nodded, still eyeing her carefully, "But it's what he believes. Besides, we don't know what have happened to him during those missing six years," she pointed out, and Mary immediately looked at her sharply, picking up the implication in her words that Ajay might have been held and tortured. She grimaced, giving Mary an apologetic look as nausea crossed her features briefly, "Anything could have happened to him, Mary, but I think it's safe to say that the man you once considered family is much changed".

Mary closed her eyes briefly, before opening them again and moving to practically collapse into a plastic chair sitting askew from the desk before the laptop. For a long moment she simply stared at the screen with a distant, pained expression, and Amelia and Sherlock let her, remaining silent as they watched her struggle to come to terms with everything they had told her. Amelia wanted nothing more than to reach out and hug her, but she knew that right now Mary needed space to try and come to grips with everything, to just breathe, but it was hard to watch someone you cared for, even loved, struggle like this without trying to console them the few ways that she knew she could.

"I suppose I was always afraid this might happen," Mary admitted after a long stretch of silence, hunching over slightly, bracing herself with her hands on her knees and her head bowed, "That something in my past would come back to haunt me one day".

Sherlock pulled a slight face and glanced at Amelia, absently reaching up to touch his left side of his lower ribcage, "Yes, well he's a very tangible ghost," he muttered with a small, pained grimace of his lips as he shifted slightly, no doubt starting to feel quite bruised, though he was hiding it well.

Amelia shook her head lightly and gave her a look…she had tried to get him to let her ice his ribs for him, while he had been changing, but he had only reluctantly conceded to letting her tend to his eye after pointing out how inconvenient trying to solve a case with only partial vision would be.

"God," Mary breathed, closing her eyes tightly, paying them little mind, "I just wanted a bit of peace, and I really thought I had it".

"Oh, Mary," Amelia looked back across to her with a sad look, pushing back the urge to cry as she looked at Mary's slumped, desperate form. It really did just break her heart to see Mary like this, no matter what her past actions might have been, she and John truly had built something special together, and she could barely stand to see it practically crumbling before their eyes like this. But she reassured herself with the fact that it would only be temporary, they would fix this and then everything would be okay, their lives back to how they were before.

Sherlock frowned deeply at her, too, "No," he said firmly, moving to stand by her chair and reaching out to place a hand on her shoulder, "Mary, you do," he tried to console her, his voice softening as he peered down at her gently, "I made a vow, remember?" he reminded her, making her open her eyes and look up to met his gaze, "To look after the three of you".

"Sherlock, we all knew you could never keep that vow," Mary gave him a half-hearted smile, her eyes full of sadness, though she seemed to be trying hard to not completely break down, as Amelia suspected she probably wanted to right now. She glanced across to Amelia and gave her that same little smile, and then back across to Sherlock, who was eyeing her with an almost wary look now, much to Amelia's interest, "You can't vow to never make another vow again when you're in love with someone".

"That's…not what I was referring to," he replied with an oddly thrown expression, though he kept his eyes firmly on Mary. Amelia lifted an eyebrow and eyed the side of his face curiously, but he was being oddly careful not to so much as glance at her, "And while that might have been…premature of me to make that sort of statement, I still stand by the sentiment of my promise to always be there for the three of you and I will honour it, Mary".

Amelia couldn't help feeling as though she was missing something, and perhaps if she wasn't already so focused on helping Mary and John, and tired from the day's events, then she might have been able to try and figure out just from their exchange what it was they seemed to be speaking of, but not actually saying. There was an underlying tension in Sherlock's voice when he had been speaking at first, not to mention how odd it was that he seemed intent on not glancing at Amelia, and then there was Mary's tiny little smile. However, right now she couldn't for the life of her find the energy to try to puzzle over it, that would be an issue for another day, but right now she had more important matters to deal with. She looked back to Mary, who was watching Sherlock with a gentle, fond expression.

"We both will honour it, Mary," she told her firmly, meeting her eyes determinedly as Mary glanced over to her again, "You, John, and Rosie are family, my family. I won't allow anything to ever happen to any of you," she finished strongly, lifting her chin higher, her resolved set on the matter. John was like the brother she had always hoped James might have been, and therefore those that he loved had also become precious to her.

Mary looked between them with another half-smile, "Sherlock the dragon slayer," she remarked fondly, "And Amelia the fairy godmother".

Sherlock's gaze flickered over to Amelia briefly, his eyebrow lifted as he seemed to consider the idea of Amelia being likened to a fairy godmother, while Amelia smiled widely. He didn't seem to find anything to disagree with, in fact his mouth actually twitched into a slight smile as he regarded her, before turning his attention back to Mary. His smile melted away and his expression grew serious again.

"Stay close to us and we will keep you safe from him," he said firmly, meeting her eyes steadily, "I promise you".

Mary stared up at him for a long, silent moment, seeming thoughtful as she considered his assurances. She stood after a moment, dropping his gaze, "There's something I think you should read," she informed them suddenly, instantly causing Amelia to frown in confusion, watching as she slipped a folded piece of white paper from her pocket, holding it out towards the detectives.

"What is it?" he questioned, eyeing the paper as he reached out to take it.

"I hoped I wouldn't have to do this," she sighed, passing him the letter into his bare hand, before withdrawing her hand, slipping it back inside her coat pocket. Amelia's frown deepened, watching as something flickered past her features, something close to…regret.

Sherlock didn't seem to notice, busy already unfolding the paper, but he suddenly seemed to freeze the moment he opened it completely. Amelia, standing close beside him, drew in a small breath and blinked slightly, feeling oddly light headed for a second, before she gave herself a sharp shake. Her eyes snapped up to Mary in realisation, her eyes widening.

"What are you…?" he began in confusion, finding that the letter had nothing written on it.

"Sherlock…" Amelia began, only to pause and have to shake her head again, feeling another wave of dizziness wash over her. She actually reached out to grasp the top of the chair that Mary had just stood from, turning an accusing, slightly blurry eyes back onto Mary, who watched on with open regret now.

And then Sherlock did something that was incredibly stupid…he lifted the paper up to his nose and sniffed deeply, before Amelia could even try to warn him against it, her eyes widening in shock that he would actually be foolish enough to sniff the thing when there was clearly something being secreted off the paper, some sort of floral based chemical solution that had seemingly began to waft into the air the second he had opened the paper, effecting them both easily, already. Whatever it was, it was very obviously potent stuff. Almost immediately, Sherlock blinked rapidly and lowered the paper, staggering backwards unsteadily.

"Mary…" he mumbled, grimacing as he wobbled on his own feet, just as Mary hurried to his side and helped ease him back down onto another chair behind him, which he collapsed into heavily.

"There you go," Mary said soothingly, stopping him from slipping sideways off the chair.

"Mary, what have you done?" Amelia shook her head again, squeezing her eyes shut as everything seemed to blur slightly around the edges, making her feel slightly sickly. She gripped the back of the chair more tightly, but she only seemed to be suffering from a mild exposure of the drug, enough to throw her off balance and make her feel sluggish, but not enough to knock her like it had Sherlock.

"It's all right," she reassured them, still trying to prevent Sherlock, who looked barely conscious now, from slipping off the chair. She threw Amelia an apologetic look over her shoulder, her lips pressing into a hard line, "I'm sorry, Amelia, really I am, but it's for the best, believe me".

"No," Sherlock managed to slur out, fighting desperately to stay awake, but he was losing the battle. He swayed dangerously back on the chair, slumped sideways and low against the back of it, his head lolling slightly back.

Amelia pushed herself away from the chair and tried to move towards him, but Mary easily stepped in her path, grabbing her around the waist, just before Amelia almost collapsed. She tried to push away from the other woman, but she felt as though her body was being sapped of energy, but she wanted, needed, to try and do something.

"I really am sorry," Mary was saying grimly, guiding her back over towards the chair that she had been balancing against, barely needing to put any effort into lightly pushing Amelia down onto it, though Amelia did try to put up some fight. Mary easily grasped her wrists, wrapping her fingers around them as she peered into her eyes, "Please, don't make this any harder than it needs to be, Amelia," she urged her, almost pleadingly as she risked letting go of Amelia's left wrist to slip a neatly folded, white cloth from her pocket, "I don't want to accidently hurt you".

"Don't do this," she tried, ignoring her pleas and reaching up to grab Mary's coat lapel, though her fingers felt numb and clumsy. She looked blurrily into Mary's slightly distorted features, "Mary, we can help you, we'll always help you. Just…just think of John and Rosie…"

"I am," she cut across her, her face twisting with something close to pain at the mention of her family, before it was gone, "And I know that you'll look after them for me, you and Sherlock, until I come back," she gave a sad smile, meeting Amelia's unfocused gaze, "I couldn't think of anyone better".

"Mary…"

"I'm sorry, Amelia," she said, right before placing the piece of cloth over her mouth and nose, holding it in place, even when Amelia desperately tried grabbing at her wrists and hands.

Given the fact that she had already been partly exposed to the substance, Amelia almost instantly began to feel herself floating away, darkness slowly creeping into her vision and what little fight that she did have left quickly died, her arms falling clumsily to her sides and her eyes slipped closed as Mary removed the cloth from her face. She felt something gently touch the side of her head, something that might have been an affectionate gesture, before everything just…faded away.

So, bit of a long update, but oddly enough this season, story wise, seems to be going to be longer than previously. I mean, usually it takes six chapters to get through an episode, but this seems like it might take closer to seven, if not even eight. Just a curious observation I've made. Anyway, so I decided it was about time that we have Amelia saving Sherlock, in a way, plus we got to see a little protective Sherlock and Amelia in this chapter, which was rather fun to write. We haven't seen that for a while now. As always, Amelia's outfit will be on my Tumblr and Pinterest.

Next chapter, we get a glimpse of Amelia's past, have we finally found out exactly what Mycroft does all day in that basement office? And the chase is on for Mary Watson. I hope you guys liked it, tell me what you thought. Please review :)

Guest Reviews:

Izzy: Yes, that is rather amusing. It took me a few minutes for it to hit me where I had seen him from before, then it hit me that it was from Sherlock. I love how England loves using the same actors and actresses.

Guest (1): I'm delighted you like Amelia, and I understand completely why you can't imagine Sherlock being involved in a romance. Honestly I'm kind of the same, I don't think it would actually work on the show or in the books, but that's why we have Fanfiction. I mean, I love the idea of Molly and Sherlock, but do I actually think it would work? No, not really, it's a little bit like how I wouldn't wish for the Doctor from Doctor Who to ever have a proper romance or why I wasn't a big fan of the whole River Song storyline, it just felt…off, to me. There are certain characters who really shouldn't have love interests, I think, but it can be a little guilty pleasure to imagine if they did.

Guest (2): I didn't mind this season, personally, though I know that a lot of people really hated it. I think the first episode of the season was actually my favourite, out of this season, and I have no idea why. I enjoyed how they explored how Sherlock's actions impacted his friendship with John and how they showed grief in the second episode, but the third and last episode, while enjoyable, I could certainly see why it didn't mesh well with people. The whole secret sister thing was a little cliché, but I'll admit she did make for a rather creepy character and I quite enjoyed seeing more of Sherlock's 'human' side come out throughout that episode, and learning more about the Holmes brothers past. But I really do desperately hope they'll have another season, and I think they will, to be honest, but I think it will be a long while to come yet. Like we're not used to having to wait for another season of Sherlock, anyway.