The Lying Detective, Part 3

It seemed as if the word 'Pregnant' lingered heavily in the air of the limo, even after the car had pulled away from the little street and had already hit the motorway. Amelia, for her part, allowed the silence to continue, casting John little glances from time to time, before hastily turning her gaze back to her window, inwardly wondering if she might have accidently have broken John with the news. She hadn't quite meant to shock him silent...just shock him enough to perhaps make him stop talking about her relationship with Sherlock and make him understand that she couldn't just walk away from him, like John had. She would always be connected to Sherlock now, even if Sherlock wasn't...well, around himself. God, just that thought made her feel ill, and not just due to the fact that she felt queasy most of the time these days, not just in the morning, which was something of a misleading description of feeling ill during pregnancy. She was just a little bitter about that little fact, if you couldn't tell...

"Pregnant?" John finally managed to say, and she looked back over to him, finding him staring at her with wide eyes and his lips slightly parted, "You're...pregnant?"

"Good timing, huh?" she nodded humourlessly, giving him a thin smile.

"But..." he shook his head, blinking rapidly, before frowning at her, "How...?"

"You're a doctor and a father yourself; I'm going to be extremely worried if you don't understand how babies are made, John".

"That's not what..." he stopped, sighing as he briefly closed his eyes, "How far along...are you?"

"Close to twelve weeks," she replied, watching as his eyes widened and his gaze dropped to her stomach, automatically, before back up to her face. She smiled very slightly, amused, "Apparently, I'm carrying very well, you can't even tell with my clothing on yet. Especially considering..."

"Considering?"

"Well..." Amelia shrugged lightly, "One would just be too easy, wouldn't it? Twins, John," she gave him a pointed look, when he continued to look at her blankly, and his eyes immediately widened to a near impossible size, "There's a one in seventeen chance that if the mother is a fraternal twin she'll have twins, too, plus I'm over the age of thirty, which increases the odds again, and I have a family history of twins that goes back four generations, so...is it any wonder? Really?"

John slowly sat back in his seat, looking away from her with a rather shocked expression, "Jesus, Amelia," he breathed, after a moment.

Amelia remained silent, but she smiled very slightly at him and laughed lightly, though she still felt heavy hearted. It felt good to talk about it, she'd been so close to telling Molly...but she'd kept it to herself, she had never quite forgotten the fact that Molly had feelings for Sherlock for so many years, it felt almost like rubbing it in her face to talk about it, so she tended to not talk about her relationship with Sherlock with Molly. Mrs Hudson would have blabbed to the entire Baker Street, Mr and Mrs Holmes...overjoyed as they would be, it simply felt odd to tell them first and not Sherlock, who she hadn't told for obvious reasons. Lestrade, well, he'd probably accidently let it slip or just gruffly offer to help her out...with whatever she might need, while Mycroft...God, the idea of telling Mycroft first was just weird. He'd probably just look at her blankly and eventually respond with 'That's...nice?' No, John was the best option out of the lot, which was just downright depressing that Sherlock wasn't the top of her list, as the father, but that was her life this week.

"No one else knows, do they?" John asked, glancing sideways at her.

"You're the only one I've told," she nodded, before pausing, "Though, Mycroft likely is aware, being him, but he wouldn't share, not even to his parents. He knows I'd hunt him down and, Mycroft Holmes or not, the idea of a pregnant woman hunting down any man has got to be rather terrifying to consider".

He smiled slightly at that, looking amused, probably from the mental imagine, though it soon dropped from his face, "And you've been dealing with this, and everything with Sherlock..." he said softly, frowning at her in concern, "All by yourself".

Amelia shrugged again, "Well, I couldn't speak to you," she said lightly, but guilt still flashed in his eyes and he immediately grimaced, biting his bottom lip. Her expression softened, "You're grieving, John, I don't blame you...and I'm okay, as I can be presently".

"I still should have been there for you, Amelia. Are you even alright to be here?"

She fixed him with a narrowed eyed glare, "Why, because I'm pregnant?" she huffed slightly, making him blink slightly, "I've been working on my own cases for weeks now, you think I'm just going to give up working because I'm pregnant? Yes, John," she rolled her eyes slightly, "I am perfectly fine to be here, and don't you dare start treating me any different, do you understand me?" she fixed him with a hard glare, lifting her right index finger to point at him, "I can't have you treating me any differently, Sherlock might be too high and out of it to notice anything yet, but you start acting different towards me, and he'll pick it up and I don't want that".

"He doesn't have any clue?"

"Of course not, Sherlock's terribly easy to fool, when you know how to, and he's been so high lately that he doesn't even notice if is night or day. I'll tell him, once he's sobered up a bit, but not before".

John nodded in agreement and gave her a gentle smile, "I'm really happy for you, Amelia," he told her, reaching across the seat to grasp her hand, resting on the seat next to her. She smiled widely back at him, "You're going to make a great mum".

"I don't know about that," she smiled, oddly feeling humbled.

"I mean it," he insisted, his smile growing brighter, more encouraging, "You've been great with Rosie, so I can only imagine how amazing you're going to be with your own kids. You've got this, Amelia".

Amelia almost felt a little tearful all of a sudden, just hearing him say that, how certain and sincere he was, it was enough to almost make her cry. But ever since she had taken that home pregnancy test and it had come back positive, she had doubted herself horribly. It didn't matter to her if she would likely have to be a single mother of twins, she was actually okay with that...obviously, she would rather Sherlock be with her and that they do this together, but if things didn't go that way, she knew she could do it. The thing that got her questioning was being a mum itself, that just seemed crazy to her. She felt like she should at least know if she could look after a pet or something, before having kids, and now she was having twins. How did one person even feed or change two screaming babies in the first place? But hearing John so confident in her really did give her a nice boost.

"You're the best, John," she gave him a brilliant smile, "You really are. Everything else is forgiven".

John returned her smile, though it still looked a little guilty. Their journey didn't last much longer and before long they were turning into a car park outside a large building that seemed to be a TV studio, by the look of it, the limo rolling slowly up the car park that seemed to stretch around the building, before pulling up just by the parked ambulance. They could already see Molly sitting on the step of the open ambulance doors, looking rather grim. A man in a black suit approached John's side door and Amelia looked sharply to John.

"Not any different and not a word," she reminded him firmly, letting go of his hand.

"Got it," he nodded to her, just as his door was opened and he turned in his seat to climb out, Amelia following him out.

They moved to walk over towards the ambulance, and Amelia immediately frowned in alarm, seeing Sherlock was lying on his back on the stretcher in the back, while Molly looked even more upset up close, hunched over slightly on the step. Dread washed over her instantly and she felt sick again, though that could be from worry or, well, the other thing.

"Well?" John asked as they neared, lifting an eyebrow, "How is he?"

"Basically fine," Sherlock said instantly, and sat up from the stretcher, throwing his legs over the side as he stood, slightly stumbling as he did so. He had to reach out and catch himself on the wall of the ambulance.

Amelia looked nervously to Molly, "Molly, how bad is it?" she eyed her, struggling not to let her fear show.

Molly didn't look up at her, perhaps she simply couldn't, "I've seen healthier people on the slab," she replied weakly, pressing her lips into a miserable line, and Amelia closed her eyes briefly, shaking her head as she tried to compose herself.

"Yeah, but, to be fair..." Sherlock called back to her, pulling his dressing gown off and grabbing his coat from off the end of the stretcher, moving to pull it on, "You work with murder victims. They tend to be quite young".

"Not funny," she said flatly, her voice very slightly shaky and her eyes downcast still in misery.

"Little bit funny".

"Sherlock," Amelia shook her head at him, her face screwed up in a deep frown, "Please, for God's sake, take this seriously!"

He simply rolled his eyes and it took every ounce of her will power not to simply scream at him in fury and frustration, and storm away, throwing her hands up in the air. But she didn't, because she couldn't simply give up on him that easily, he may have given up on himself, but she hadn't, nor had Mrs Hudson, nor had Molly, or John, deep, deep down, he wouldn't be here standing with them if he had completely written off Sherlock. Sherlock had so many people who loved him and only wished the best for him; it was just such a shame he couldn't seem to see that.

"If you keep taking what you're taking at the rate you're taking it," Molly continued, her tone growing slightly wobbly from tears that she was struggling to hold back, and once again she was keeping her gaze down on the tarmac, rather than at Amelia or John, "You've got weeks".

"Weeks?" Amelia repeated sharply, her breath freezing in her chest and her eyes widening in horror, her head whipping up towards Sherlock. She felt John step closer to her side and place a hand on her lower back, partly for emotional support, but likely also out of fear for her possibly fainting. She certainly did feel suddenly very light headed, though for once it had nothing to do with pregnancy. Weeks...she had known that Sherlock was in the worst state he had ever been in, but she hadn't realised in was that bad.

"Calm down, Amelia," Sherlock threw her a look, rolling his eyes again, as if they were simply being over dramatic. He moved to stand in the doorway of the ambulance, using the bright yellow poles on either side of the doorway to balance himself as he peered out at them, though he still didn't quite look directly at Amelia, "Exactly, weeks," he moved to step out of the ambulance, almost losing his balance as he did so...no one moved to help him, "Let's not get ahead of ourselves".

"For Christ sake, Sherlock!" Molly exclaimed, jumping onto her feet, looking angrily at him, "It's not a game!"

He turned to her, frowning faintly, "I'm worried about you, Molly," he said, eyeing her, "You seem very stressed".

"I'm stressed," she agreed, forcing herself to sound calm, "You're dying".

"Yeah, well, I'm ahead, then. Stress can ruin every day of your life. Dying can only ruin one".

"But is also forever changes the lives of everyone else who knew and loved you," Amelia added softly, looking back at him with a strangely calm expression. She wasn't crying, she didn't even feel close to tears, shock, probably, she was still in shock. He glanced over to her and quickly dropped his gaze, fumbling almost anxiously with the edge of her cuff, before he seemed to realise what he was doing and stopped...she still noticed it, though only vaguely, "That's the thing, Sherlock," she went on, "Death isn't just about one person, it's about the people who are left behind, too. How do you think we'll cope losing you, Sherlock? Does that even matter to you?"

"You'll be fine, Amelia," he said dismissively, still not looking at her, still keeping his gaze on the ground, "Let's not be so melodramatic as to act as if your entire life revolves around me, you've stated many times that it doesn't".

"It doesn't, Holmes," she replied lightly, nodding slowly, "But I had hoped for us to share a life together, it was never my intention, nor hope, that it would be such a short span of time as this".

He had nothing smart or witty to say to that, shockingly, and he seemed to frown slightly to himself, reaching up briefly to rub at his unshaven cheek. Amelia simply gazed at him, still without any tears, still without even a hint of anger or grief in her expression, just...sadness. She was just so incredibly sad that it had come to this for Sherlock, but if he wasn't going to change for his own sake, he'd never change for anyone else. She was also not so deluded as to imagine that telling him that she was pregnant would make any difference. Sherlock wasn't like that. He would have to make the choice to save himself, for himself, or else it would never work.

John cleared his throat, then, frowning as he eyed Sherlock, who looked sharply up to him, "So this is real?" he asked him, making Sherlock narrow his eyes on him, "You've really lost it. You're actually out of control".

Sherlock turned to stare at him, "When have I ever been that?"

"Since the day I met you".

"Oh, clever boy," he rolled his eyes, looking away from him, "I've missed you fumbling 'round the place".

He frowned, though, glancing over to Amelia, "I thought this was some kind of..." he began warily.

"What?" he asked him sharply, turning to fix John with a narrow eyed look.

He hesitated, turning his gaze back to Sherlock, "...trick," he finished flatly.

"It isn't," Amelia shook her head, her tone grim as she eyed Sherlock gravely, "Believe me, I wish it was this time around, but it's completely real".

"It's definitely not a trick," Sherlock confirmed, nodding, but his expression was almost as serious as Amelia's now, "It's a plan".

Amelia froze at that and narrowed her eyes on him; did he just say it was a plan? What did that mean? He surely couldn't possibly haven intentionally done this to himself, just for the sake of a case? Oh, who was she kidding, of course he would have, but not just any ordinary case. It would have to be something very important, though she couldn't imagine what that might be. She could suspect it had something to do with John, but if that was true and Sherlock truly had planned this entire thing, right down to bringing himself to the edge of killing himself, then that made this whole thing even worse.

"Sherlock..." she began, once she found her voice again, her mouth suddenly dry, "What do you..."

"Mr Holmes!" a bright, Northern accented voice suddenly called from the distance, "Miss Wilson!"

She frowned and looked towards the voice, her eyebrows lifting as she spotted Smith, himself, strolling calmly out of the large building they had been standing outside of, smiling widely as a horde of reporters, including a full news crew with cameras, followed close behind him, seemingly ready to cover every single moment of their meeting. She grimaced, casting a quick glance down at herself...she was pleased she had dressed up nicely today, she could have turned up in just a pair of jeans and Converses, and at least she had a blazer on. If she did look slightly bigger than usual, which she sincerely doubted she did yet, she could use that as something of a shield. Sherlock also turned to watch them approach, his eyes narrowing.

"Thirty feet and closing," he murmured out of the corner of his mouth to them, "The most significant undetected serial killer in British history," he glanced sideways to Amelia and John, "Help me bring him down".

"Sherlock," Amelia shot him a sharper look, though she forced her expression to remain calm, casual, even, acutely aware of the cameras currently trained on them and approaching swiftly, "What plan? For God's sake, you can't just leave it at that without explaining".

"I'm not telling you," he replied instantly, keeping his expression clear of emotion, too.

"Why not?" John demanded, frowning deeply at him...yes, he was doing a lot worse at maintaining a sense of calm.

"Because you won't like it, either of you".

Amelia barely stopped herself from turning and shouting at him, instead she gritted her teeth and curled her hands into fists at her sides, "You're unbelievable," she hissed from the corner of her mouth, her lips barely moving, out of fear of the cameras picking up the movement. She'd learnt long ago that people could read anything into everything, just from the way she carried her damn handbag. By now, she ought to be a mother of six, if the number of so called 'pregnancy' rumours just carrying a large handbag had stirred up in the press over the years.

"Mr Holmes!" Smith called cheerfully, "Miss Wilson!" he smiled broadly, his crooked, slightly yellowed stained teeth flashing at them as they turned to face him, surrounded by his watchful camera crew and reporters, while a woman with a clipboard stood close by his side. One of the cameramen hurried around where John was standing, just to try and get a better angle to film from. Smith smiled at the detectives and held up his hands briefly, "I don't do handshakes," he told them, before walking closer to Sherlock, "It'll have to be a hug".

"I know," Sherlock said flatly, his expression guarded as he seemed resigned to his fate, not attempting to step away as Smith stepped forward and wrapped his arms around him, hugging him warmly, as if they were old friends. Sherlock positively towered over the much shorter man and while he didn't lift his arms to hug him back, he did drop his chin on Smith's shoulder. It was almost comical, if it wasn't so awkward to witness.

Amelia struggled to keep her expression completely neutral as she watched, finding the whole thing rather cringey and just horribly staged feeling, but the press seemed to love it, snapping pictures and filming the whole exchange eagerly. She glanced at Molly, who remained by the back of the ambulance, watching with a slightly bewildered expression, before glancing at John, finding him staring at the scene with his lips parted in confusion. God, she hoped the media were too busy lapping up Smith and Sherlock's little moment to pay them too much notice.

"Oh, Sherlock," Smith grinned, putting on quite the performance as he slapped him on the back, truly acting as if they'd been friends for years, "Oh, Sherlock!" he laughed lightly, finally releasing him and stepping back, "What can I say? Thanks to you..." he gestured to Sherlock as he glanced around to the gathered media, "...we're, uh, we're everywhere!"

Yes, like fungus and just as pleasant, Amelia thought to herself, maintaining her thin, pleasantly neutral expression...with difficulty.

"Mr Holmes!" one of the male reporters called out, standing before a small camera crew and with a notepad and pen in his hands, "How did Culverton talk you into this? And Miss Wilson..." he turned his gaze to Amelia, flashing her a very bright, white toothed smile, "How do you feel about Mr Holmes's latest remarks about Mr Smith?"

Amelia's lips briefly pressed together at the question, though Smith, thankfully, almost immediately spoke up, saving her from having to lie through her teeth.

"Well, Sherlock's a detective," he pointed out as he turned to the reporter, smiling as he waved back towards Sherlock, who eyed his back with narrow eyes. He paused and looked briefly, very falsely, startled, widening his eyes for effect, "Maybe I just confessed!" he grinned as all the reporters and his own team broke into laughter, though neither detective, nor John or Molly joined in. He turned back towards them and gave them another friendly smile, waving them to follow him, "Come on..."

He turned and began walking back towards the studio he had just strolled out of, his little band of reporters and news crews instantly trailing along in his wake. Amelia watched him go with a very slight, faint frown crossing her face, as much as she dared to show with so many cameras around, ready to catch even the tiniest flash of emotion. She had likely around given away something, just by her lack of quick response to the reporter's question about her feelings on Sherlock's actions...but it couldn't be helped. Smith had seemed quite happy to try and keep the attention on him and Sherlock, seemingly barely sparing her much of a glance. If he truly was a serial killer, then it would seem he had singled out Sherlock. Sherlock looked back over his shoulder to her and John, then, giving them a near pleading look as he began to move to follow Smith and the others. Amelia sighed, inwardly.

"Let's do this..." she murmured from the corner of her mouth, shooting John a slightly resigned look. John frowned very slightly, but he didn't argue as he moved to walk with her and Sherlock, following Smith back towards the studio...Molly watched them go with a worried expression, and Amelia gave her a brief smile as they silently parted ways.

"Now it's a..." Smith was saying from a few paces ahead of them, walking along with the cameras and reporters all trained eagerly on him. He was lapping it all up, smiling happily, "It's a new kind of breakfast cereal..."

"Mr Holmes," another male news reporter called out, "Can you put on the hat? And Miss Wilson, would you mind just quickly putting on the scarf for us?"

"Yeah, he doesn't really wear the hat," John told the man with a small sigh.

"I'm afraid the scarf is back home today, gentlemen," Amelia said slightly more loudly then truly needed, giving the reporter that had asked a wide, charming smile...instantly, the snapping of a at least two cameras went on, which she had anticipated, given that it was technically the first time she had truly addressed the media surrounding them. Plus, she knew that the press just loved to document how she looked, very slightly sexist as it was, given that they didn't pay that much notice to Sherlock or John's wardrobe choices.

"...Kids will be getting their five-a-day before they've even left home!" Smith was still promoting proudly and rather loudly to the rest of the media, leading them all up to the front doors and into the very large, modern foyer of the studio, concrete floors and large, glass windows.

Amelia just barely held back a disgusted eye roll as she watched Smith dart off to the side slightly too very clearly sign a woman's notebook as she held it out towards him, giving him a delighted, rather starry eyed look. The media snapped several pictures of it, which she wouldn't be very surprised if it hadn't been staged, just for that very purpose. Smith's smartly, professionally dressed assistant sidled up alongside Amelia and her friends as they walked, holding a clipboard to her chest as she gave them a smile.

"Sherlock's been amazing for us," she commented to them, sparing Sherlock a slightly brighter, warmer look, as if he had somehow been in cahoots with them, rather than the opposite. Sherlock utterly ignored her.

"Has he, indeed?" Amelia glanced at her with a slightly raised eyebrow, full of thinly veiled doubt.

Smith finished dealing with his 'Fan' and turned to start leading them off again, turning to give the press a grin, "Breakfast has got to be cool," he said, evidently still promoting his brand.

"Oh, yes, Miss Wilson," the assistant nodded, smiling at her...she seemed to fail to notice her dubious expression, "We're beyond viral".

"...and you know what makes it cool when you're a kid?"

"What, sorry?" John frowned at the woman, giving her a baffled look, "Beyond what?"

"...Dangerous," Smith finished with a slightly worrying edge running through his voice, and there was no mistaking the way that he very clearly looked back over his shoulder to Sherlock, making lingering eye contact with him.

Amelia swallowed and glanced sideways at Sherlock, who glared back at Smith with a dark look and a curl to his lips. A pit of worry filled her stomach...if the drugs didn't kill Sherlock; she thought that Smith just might.

...

It was a rather sickening way to spend a day, Amelia thought as she found herself standing off to the side of a film set in a studio, John and Sherlock standing by her side, while Smith stood leaning against a mock up of a breakfast bar with a number of cameras aimed directly on him and a boom mike hovering above his head, out of shot of the cameras. A couple of boxes of breakfast cereal sat on display on the counter beside Smith, along with a full bowel of the stuff, a jug of orange juice, and a tea cup, making it look as if he was just settling in for his morning breakfast. Personally, Amelia could already think of at least a dozen things she would rather be doing right now, but instead...here she was.

"Set, and...action!" the director called from off to the side of the set.

"I'm a killer," Smith smiled at the camera, though given the position...it was almost as if he was staring straight at Sherlock, his tone soft and almost dangerous, "You know I'm a killer..." he continued, turning his head to look directly into a second camera, off to the right, his lips lifting slyly, "But did you know..." he suddenly picked up the white bowl and held it up towards the camera, "...I'm a cereal killer?"

Amelia grimaced, while Sherlock lightly laughed to himself, staring at Smith with a frankly rather frightening, manic glare, seemingly having only eyes for him as Smith lifted up the spoon sitting within the bowl and slowly scooped a spoonful of almost oat-like cereal up to his mouth, taking a large mouthful as he still, somehow, managed to smirk into the camera. She had never before, in her entire life, felt more turned-off by cereal, she couldn't believe that people actually thought this would make someone want to buy it. It just felt sleazy and so obviously a dig at Sherlock, playing up on his whole accusation. She supposed she could give him a tiny bit of credit for having latched onto that and spun it in his own favour, but still, Smith was just...off. Serial killer or not.

"Mm!" Smith almost moaned appreciatively into the camera, his mouth full of the rather dry looking cereal. He straightened, then, and made a slight waving gesture towards the cameras, looking slightly disgusted.

"And cut there," the director called, "Thank you".

Smith quickly sat down his bowl and clapped his hands, looking off to the side...a young woman with dark hair pulled back in a ponytail hurried forward with a bucket, and Smith lent forward over the set to spit out the cereal in his mouth into it. Amelia made a disgusted noise in her throat and looked away from the scene.

"As if I needed another reason to hate breakfast cereal," she muttered, wrinkling her nose. She had never been a fan of cereal; she couldn't stand it when it went soggy. Porridge was a bit different, but stuff like cornflakes or, worse still, fruit loops, was just horrible. The only sugar she wanted in the morning was in her coffee and even that was artificial sweetener. She glanced back over to the set and groaned aloud, catching sight of Smith now eyeing up the poor, young woman with a rather lusty look in his eyes, while the girl stood there with the bucket in hand, looking rather uncomfortable, "If he really isn't a serial killer, then I think we could find at least several women who would claim sexual harassment suits against him..." she shook her head, looking sideways to Sherlock, who watched the whole sickening thing was sharp, though slightly unfocused, eyes.

"He's a killer, Amelia," Sherlock said lowly, his top lip curling into an almost frightening smirk, gaze on Smith, "I know he is..." he paused, finally sparing her a flicker of his gaze, "But it might be worth keeping the sexual harassment lawsuits in mind. There's bound to be several he's covered up..."

"Probably mostly with murder," she commented with a frown.

"You're not really believing this, are you, Amelia?" John cut in, making her turn to find him staring at her with a slightly disbelieving frown, "I mean...has it occurred to you, either of you, that you've just been played?"

"Oh, yes," Sherlock nodded instantly, perfectly calmly.

"It's entirely possible," Amelia agreed, turning her gaze back onto Smith, who had since began chatting away to the director of the whole production, seemingly laughing and smiling about something, now that he had stopped attempting to chat-up the barely twenty year old assistant.

John shook his head, giving Sherlock a flat look, "For an ad campaign".

"Brilliant, isn't it?" Sherlock broke into a small smile.

"Brilliant?" he eyed him dubiously.

He stared directly across the room at Smith, his expression growing cold, "Safest place to hide," he said slowly, watching as Smith was being fussed over by someone from wardrobe, adjusting the collar of his blazer, while Smith, himself, ignored them and instead seemed to be picking food from his teeth, "Plain sight".

"Mr Holmes, Miss Wilson..." Smith's assistant suddenly walked up to them, smiling warmly and brightly, clipboard still in her hands, "Culverton wants to know if you're okay to go straight to the hospital".

Amelia blinked slightly in confusion, glancing sideways at Sherlock, giving him a questioning look. What on Earth had Sherlock arranged with Smith? She sure did love learning about what had been pre-organised for her, without her consent, just minutes or hours before it occurred, had Sherlock not lived with her long enough by now to know that she liked to have at least a little bit of waning first? Unless it was a case, that was different, but while this was technically a case, it wasn't one she had exactly had much say in getting mixed up in, to be fair.

John laughed slightly, "Hospital?" he raised an eyebrow, giving the assistant and Sherlock a blank, pointed look.

"Culverton's doing a visit," she explained, giving them a pleasant, polite smile, utterly oblivious to how creepy her boss was, it would seem, "The kids would love to meet you three. I think he sort of promised".

There was a slight pause, before Sherlock shrugged, "Ok, okay," he agreed, before turning on his heel and walking away without another word, leaving John to stare after him in disbelief.

Amelia sighed, fixing a fake smile to her lips, "Sounds delightful," she said with thinly veiled sarcasm, not about the fact that they would be hanging out with a bunch of kids, rather the fact that it meant spending more time around Mr Creepy...and, of course, Sherlock was possibly going to cause some sort of incident. Oh, God, that thought alone made her want to groan aloud.

The assistant simply smiled widely, "If you'd like to come this way..." she said, directing them over towards the exit of the studio, where Sherlock was already heading.

Amelia moved to follow, but she sensed eyes watching her, feeling them burning into the back of her neck, making her hair stand on end uncomfortably. She glanced back over her shoulder and instantly frowned at finding Smith watching them leave with dark look in his eyes. He immediately brightened at catching her looking, though, and gave her a toothy, yellowed smile and a little wave. She didn't return either friendly gesture, simply eyed him before turning away, lifting her chin higher. Even if Sherlock turned out to be wrong about Smith...she knew, for certain, that man was guilty of some sort of crime. He was far too creepy for him not to be.

They left the studio, allowing the assistant to lead them through the modern foyer and back out into the parking lot, finding that the media and press had finally left, though Amelia imagined they would find them at the hospital, soon enough. The limo was waiting for them again, just parked outside the doors and Amelia slipped inside the back seat before John. Sherlock was already sitting by the window, tapping away on a slim black phone, not even glancing up as she slid into the seat beside him. John followed after her, closing the door behind him as he moved to take a seat on one of the other seats that lined the sides of the car.

"So..." he began, once he had settled himself comfortably, fixing Sherlock with a frown, "Where are we going? What's the point?"

"I needed a hug," Sherlock replied without looking up, still, earning a puzzled frown from John.

Amelia's eyebrows rose very slightly, though she wasn't surprised, "Ah," she said, as if it was perfectly simple...John turned his head to frown at her, "Clever".

John opened his mouth, looking rather baffled by what was going on, when a knock sounded on the window next to Amelia, who briefly closed her eyes in exasperation, before glancing at the window to see Smith standing outside the door, through the heavily tinted window. She eyed him for a moment.

"We could just drive off, you know?" she said hopefully to the others, giving John a small, slightly tense smile.

"Open the window, Amelia," Sherlock finally did glance away from the phone to look at her, though his lips were lifted and he looked almost amused.

She groaned in annoyance, "You know, you're not supposed to open windows or doors for creepy strangers, Sherlock," she commented as she slowly reached up for the button, "First rule of stranger danger..."

"You're thirty eight, Amelia".

"Thirty seven, actually," she huffed, throwing him a look, dropping her voice to a tense hiss, "And that doesn't make him any less creepy!" she did, however, press down on the small button on the armrest of the door, making the window gently begin to slide down, revealing the grinning face of Smith as he leaned slightly into the opening.

"What do you think, Mr Holmes?" he asked, lifting his eyebrows...he gave Amelia a cheeky wink and she all but had to turn away to conceal her disgusted frown, settling on simply giving him a blank look, "'Cereal' killer..."

"It's funny, 'cause it's true!" Sherlock said sarcastically, lightening his voice, though his gaze remained glued to the phone.

"Very originally, yes," Amelia commented with a similar, light tone, giving Smith a smile that held a cool edge to it. He looked at her sharply and she felt suddenly grateful that she had only let the window down midway, meeting his eyes. There was something dark in them, something unpleasant and chilling. She had looked into the eyes of many killers before and this felt no different.

Smith smiled, then, though it held not emotion to it, "See you at the hospital," he straightened and turned to walk off.

"Oh, you can have this back now," Sherlock suddenly called after him, looking up from the phone, lowering it into his lap as he made a rather poor attempt at pretending to be casual...John frowned at him, while Amelia inwardly sighed. They had just about gotten rid of Smith, for a little bit, too.

Smith turned back around and walked back over to the window, peering back into them, "Have what back?" he asked, leaning into the window...it felt as if he was looming over her, Amelia resisting the urge to tug the hemline of her shorts down over her thighs more.

Sherlock flashed him a tight smile and suddenly leaned right into Amelia's space, his arm pressing up against her own, while his other moved to reach passed her, towards the window with the phone in his clasp. Amelia blinked, this was the closest she had been to Sherlock since she had discovered he had started using again, it was rather disconcerting.

"Thanks for the hug," Sherlock grinned at him, allowing Smith to take the phone, frowning at it. He suddenly lost his smile as he sat comfortably back in his seat, "Oh, I sent and deleted a text. You might get a text in reply but I doubt it".

Smith smiled very slightly, looking perfectly calm as he pocketed his phone, "It's password protected," he commented, peering back through the open window.

"Please," he scoffed, while John looked from Smith to Sherlock, looking utterly baffled by what was going on. Amelia, however, was just trying to conceal her impressed expression, the fact that Smith was standing within a ten foot radius of her, however, did help maintain her sense of coolness.

He laughed lightly, then, and just the sound was creepy enough to make Amelia want to flinch...she kept her gaze carefully ahead of her, though she was acutely aware of the man's presence just beside her. She suddenly felt incredibly pleased that she wasn't wearing a low cut dress or blouse today, but she was wishing she had worn trousers instead. Smith seemed to be far more interested in playing with Sherlock then with her, but she still felt his gaze wash over her, lingering and far too familiar.

"We're going to have endless fun, Mr Holmes, aren't we?"

"Oh no," Sherlock turned his head to look at him, his expression darkening and his eyes growing almost threatening, "No, not endless".

Smith smirked, looking far to delighted and pleased with himself then anyone sane would when being looked at like that, his gaze lingering on Sherlock before he moved to turn away from the car. He gave Amelia a charming smile and nod as he did so...Amelia didn't bother to conceal her look of disgust, which only seemed to make him laugh softly as he turned fully from the car and walked away from them. She immediately hit the button on the door and the window smoothly rose. She released a small, shuddering breathe.

"That man is foul," she shivered, tugging her blazer closer to her body, her voice tight, "There's something truly, truly wrong with him".

Sherlock shifted slightly in his seat, making her glance at him, frowning slightly. He looked paler, she realised, a slight grimace twisting his features as he seemed to suddenly shrink into himself, hugging himself slightly. Her heart sunk through the ground, recognising the signs...how long had it been since he had last used? Probably at least five to six hours, he'd start feeling symptoms of withdrawal before much longer, if not already, judging by his appearance. It made her feel sick, watching him, wanting to grab him and shake him, scream at him to just stop this madness. But she didn't, because it would never do any good. He'd made his choice, hadn't he? He hadn't stopped to consider her in that; he wasn't likely to do so now.

"Sherlock..." she sighed heavily, though, unable to help herself as she watched how pathetic he looked, how fragile...

"He won't hurt you, Amelia," Sherlock said, suddenly, and even though his voice was soft and almost gritted against his teeth in discomfort, there was something startling familiar about his tone. It sounded like him, the Sherlock without the drugs, the one who she had fallen for, and when he glanced at her, his eyes were actually clear and focused, for the first time in weeks she felt as if he truly seeing her properly and it was enough to almost take her breath away in relief. She hadn't realised how much she had missed him just looking at her, "I'm going to stop him".

She blinked slowly, staring at him as he held her gaze, "We're going to stop him, Holmes," she corrected him gently, and it took all of her effort not to reach out and take his hand, but...she couldn't. She had been forced to give up that right, he had driven her to that point, for her to reach out and take his hand now would be like accepting his behaviour and she couldn't do that. He had to know, had to understand, that things were different now.

He eyed her for a few seconds longer, before something flickered past his features and his gaze drifted down to her own hand, sitting on the leather seat next to her leg. He seemed to frown, before shaking his head and looking away from her, hugging himself even tighter, his eyes briefly closing, almost as if he was pained. She watched him warily. She wasn't the only one.

"Need another hit, do you?" John asked him, giving him humourless, bitter smile as he watched him.

"I can wait until the hospital," Sherlock replied shortly, his expression darkening very slightly as he slumped deeper into his seat, scowling as John looked away from him in disgust, shaking his head.

"You could always just stop, Sherlock," Amelia said pointedly, her eyes steadily fixed on the side of his face, not even trying to conceal her hope or plea that he listen.

He closed his eyes and tilted his head back into the headrest, pretending not to hear her.

Little on the short side, perhaps. I apologise. I did write more than this, but it just wouldn't have flowed as well as I would have liked, so I decided to cut this chapter shorter, so that the next could flow better. If that makes sense. I hope you enjoyed it, anyway. Tell me what you thought, please review :)

Guest Review:

Guest: Oh, I get it completely; I don't really see Sherlock having a romantic relationship with anyone, either. Not a typical, domestic sort of one, anyway, and him as a dad? Even harder to imagine. But this is Fanfiction and my goal, at least with this story, is to try and push the characters into becoming more then what they are on our TV screens and see if it's even possible to do so, and make it still in keeping with the characters. It gives me a chance to focus on the development of characters, which is something I've very much enjoyed toying with when it comes to Sherlock. Hopefully, even if in reality we can both agree that something like this would never actually work for a bloke like Sherlock Holmes; I can at least claim that I did it somewhat believably. Hopefully. But I am delighted that you enjoyed the previous chapter, thanks for the review :)