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?

12. Chapter 12 The Lying Detective, Part 4

The Lying Detective, Part 4

The hospital was not too far from the TV studio, which seemed to be quite a good thing for Sherlock, since by the end of the short journey he was already starting to turn a slightly grey-greenish pallor that was making Amelia rather fearful for her heels, darting wary glances at him and any tiny shift of movement he made. If he got sick and ruined her thousand pound shoes, love or not she swore she would murder him. She didn't care if she got caught for it, he would be a dead man, never to see the light of day again...thankfully, they arrived at the hospital before that could happen and Sherlock instantly fled from the car before Amelia could even unlatch her seatbelt, John blinking very slightly in shock, too, by how fast he could move.

Once Amelia had pulled herself from the back of the limo, she brought her eyes up to the hospital and was quite unsurprised by what she found. It was a very modern looking building, multi-floor levels and made from white concrete that made it almost hard to look at it directly in the bright afternoon sun light that had come out from behind some of the clouds in the spring sky. The windows were large and square, placed along the building, while the sides of the building seemed to curve slightly, like a wave. A large sign hung above the large, glass entrance of the hospital. The second she caught sight of the large black lettering...she couldn't stop laughing aloud.

"You have got to be kidding," she shook her head in disbelief, "He's not even tried to be subtle, has he? Saint Caedwalla's Hospital? Seriously?"

"What's wrong?" John asked with a frown as he slid out from the car from behind her, shutting his door, looking up at the hospital.

She sighed, "Saint Caedwalla, John," she looked at him rather pointedly, "He was the patron saint for remorseful serial killers...who the hell names a hospital after someone like that?"

John blinked slowly at her as she shook her head and turned to follow Sherlock into the hospital, before John, himself, hastily followed after them. She could barely believe the nerve of Smith, seriously, it was a complete joke. But the hospital, at least, did seem to be like any other, she cast a brief glance around the very large, bright and airy reception, though they didn't have long to wonder around. It would seem that they would be provided with something of a guide for their time, a mid-thirty year old nurse in a dark blue uniform and brown hair tied back in a high bun. She seemed quite bright and happy...she wasn't even thrown by Sherlock demanding to go to the bathroom before going any further, simply smiling brightly and leading them off down the hallway to the bathrooms. Sherlock disappeared inside quite quickly, leaving Amelia and John to linger outside, both knowing perfectly well what he was doing in there. And forced to act as if neither of them were disgusted or horrified by the thought, or perhaps that was just Amelia.

"You involved much?" the nurse turned to John, giving him a pleasant smile, once the much warmer and friendlier interactions between herself and Amelia began to flounder out slightly, given Amelia's distraction with what Sherlock was doing...she had tried her best, but it was somewhat hard to focus and make friendly, if rather superficial small talk with an obvious fan. You know the sort of chat, 'what brand of lipstick do you wear?' And 'Oh, Miss Wilson, what's it like to be a detective? Is it as exciting as it sounds?'

John looked up in surprise, "Sorry?" he asked her with a small lift of his eyebrows, seeming startled at finally being addressed. He had seemed quite content to simply stand by the entrance to the men's lou and let Amelia chat ideally.

"Um, with Miss Wilson and Mr Holmes..." she began hastily and nodding pointedly to Amelia, giving him still that bright, friendly smile that likely worked well for her, while dealing with patients, "I mean, Amelia and Sherlock and all of those cases?"

"Uh, yeah," he gave her a slightly puzzled frown, nodding slowly as he shot Amelia a bewildered look...Amelia had to drop her gaze to the floor before she could burst out laughing, catching on. Oh, God, the woman had no idea who John was, not one clue...He turned back to the nurse, giving her a slightly pointed smile, "I'm John Watson".

The nurse simply smiled at him, clearly still having no clue, "Okay".

"Doctor Watson".

"I love his blog, don't you?"

His eyes widened in disbelief and he looked to Amelia, startled, "His blog?" he exclaimed slightly, turning back to stare at the nurse...Amelia had to quickly pretend as if she was admiring the rather large, hideous picture of Smith that was splashed across the wall behind the nurse, yellow, crooked teeth on full display and still managing to ooze a sense of sleaziness, even through paper...but it was better than bursting out laughing. Only slightly.

The woman's eyebrows rose, then, seemingly utterly oblivious, "Oh, don't you read it?" she asked, sounding truly surprised, her smile slipping for the first time.

"You mean my blog. Amelia, would you tell her..."

Just then, Sherlock emerged from the bathroom with an actual bounce in his step and smiling brightly, his pupils blown out and a pink flush in the high hollows of his cheeks. It didn't make him look in anyway healthy, mind, he still looked terrible, but at least he didn't look as if he was about to keel over in a heap or vomit. Amelia couldn't help staring at him, not even trying to conceal her disappointment or anger that flashed across her feature, while the nurse instantly smiled widely at him and John frowned.

"Say what you like about addiction," Sherlock smiled brightly, looking around at them, ignoring disproving, tight expressions on Amelia and John's faces, "The day is full of highlights".

"Oh, Mr Holmes," the nurse smiled widely as she looked at him, her eyes lighting up excitedly, "You feeling better?"

"Psychedelic!" he replied without being able to even focus on her face, his eyes roaming around them, almost as if he was following some unseen pattern.

Amelia gave him a cool look, any hint of amusement utterly gone, "Yes, Sherlock," she said icily, her tone positively dripping with disgust and disproval, not that the nurse seemed to notice, "Don't you look all better".

"Much better, thanks," he flashed a smile in her general direction, though it was just slightly off from where Amelia stood, his eyes still moving about to quickly to truly be able to focus on her. How was he even supposed to walk around in this state?

"I was just saying I love your blog," the nurse said brightly to Sherlock, smiling widely at him, evidently utterly missing anything else. Amelia glanced sideways at her...she was frighteningly unobservant for a medical professional.

"Great," he nodded, giving her a pleasant, if rather absent look, "I..."

"It's my blog," John cut in pointedly, looking rather annoyed now...the nurse blinked and looked over to him in confusion.

"It is," Sherlock agreed instantly, waving towards him, "He writes the blog".

The nurse stared at John, her eyebrows lifting in surprise, "It's yours?"

"Yes," John sighed slightly, giving her a firm nod of confirmation.

"Yeah, it actually is," Amelia added, giving the nurse a pleasant smile, but the woman simply continued to stare at John, almost in disbelief.

"You write Sherlock and Amelia's blog?"

"Yes".

Sherlock briefly closed his eyes and inhaled sharply, before opening his eyes and widening them, almost as if he was trying to mentally wake himself up. He released his breath slowly, while Amelia shot him a dark glare. She couldn't believe that she was standing in a hospital with possibly the most oblivious nurse on the planet, while John had to insist that his very own blog that had his own name splashed all over it was his, while Sherlock was high as a bloody kite. It was borderline comical, but she failed to find the humour in the situation.

The nurse hesitated slightly, almost grimacing, "It's...gone downhill a little bit, hasn't it?" she said warily to John, who gave her a tight smile.

"Shouldn't we be meeting up with Mr Smith?" Amelia interrupted hastily, turning to give the nurse her best, most charming smile, almost stepping forward so that she stood in front of John, trying to protect him from having to say anything...though she doubted if he was going to say anything at all.

"Oh, yes, Miss Wilson," the nurse nodded instantly, her expression growing warm and friendly again, smiling brightly at Amelia, "It's this way, then..."

She turned and began to lead them off down the hallway, and Amelia glanced warily at Sherlock, who instantly moved to follow the nurse. He was startlingly steady on his feet, at least, managing to walk along with only a very slight funny wobble to his usually so sure footed gait, but no one but someone who knew him as well as Amelia did would notice anything off about him...she hoped, desperately. It made her inwardly sigh and press her painted red lips together in apprehension and concern, but she still moved to trail after him, John stepping along behind her. She felt his own worried gaze on the back of her neck, though she pretended not to notice.

They were taken off down a series of hallways on one of the upper floors; before the nurse leading them took them off down towards a large set of glass doors, small pictures of cartoon looking animals stuck to the glass. The children's ward, the sign read above the doors, and Amelia frowned as their guide cheerfully took them through the doors. The air smelt thickly of antiseptic and cleaning products, more images of cartoon animals stuck to the walls and small, cheerful and bright murals had been painted along the otherwise stark white walls one might expect. It was nice to see that Smith, or the designer, had at least gone to an effort to make this part of the hospital look as bright and cheerful as possible. They walked down a short hallway, passing by open doorways of rooms, until the room opened up to reveal a large space that seemed to act almost like a children's playroom/nurses station. Applause greeted them instantly, nurses and doctors lined the walls, clapping excitedly at their entrance, while the kids were gathered in the middle of the room, some sitting down and watching, others standing, but all of them seemed quite keen, no more than Smith himself, who stood in the middle of them all, clapping the loudest and grinning broadly.

"Oh, my God!" one of the nurse's gasped in delight, clapping as they walked by her, "I love your blog!"

Sherlock flashed her a grin and pointed at her with both index fingers, much to Amelia's mild shock, "You're welcome!" he practically laughed, actually briefly placing a friendly hand on her shoulder in one of the most uncharacteristic displays Amelia had ever witnessed from him, leaving her to actually stare at him as he continued on past the nurse.

"What the hell have I just walked into?" Amelia murmured to herself in wonder, slowly shaking her head as she glanced sideways to John...he simply smiled thinly and looked directly ahead, seemingly just trying to get through this whole affair with as little input as possible. That, itself, made her sigh and her expression fall slightly, quickly turning back around, giving a slightly strained smile to another nurse.

"Right, here they come!" Smith was saying brightly to the kids, still clapping happily as they grew closer to where the kids had been gathered, "The internet 'tecs!" he turned to face them as they came to join him at the edge of the gathering, Amelia smiling brightly as she looked around at all the kids, some, she suspected far too young to even have a clue about who they were, but their parents seemed pretty excited to see them and some of the older kids seemed curious, at least. Smith waved a hand towards the detectives and John, looking back around to the kids, "You all know Sherlock Holmes and Amelia Wilson!"

The children actually began cheering and clapping harder.

"Hello!" Sherlock called cheerfully.

"Hi, everyone!" Amelia said brightly over the applause, lifting a hand to wiggle her fingers at the kids in a little wave. For the moment, it didn't even bother her that much if Smith was standing just a few steps off to the side of them; she was just focusing on the kids, "Lovely to see you all".

The applause began to die down and Smith glanced over to John, "Oh, and Doctor Watson, of course," he introduced with a smile back towards the kids...the applause started up, though it was significantly less excited then it had been for Sherlock and Amelia, and John briefly pressed his lips together, "Mr Holmes, Miss Wilson..." Smith suddenly turned back to them, giving them a mock thoughtful smile as the clapping quickly faded, "I was wondering...well..." he paused, glancing back towards the kids, "...we all were, weren't we?" he gave them a grin, earning smiles from the kids...Amelia tried not to show her disgust as he turned back to them, "Maybe you could tell us about some of your cases?"

"No," Sherlock said instantly, turning to give him a slightly darker look then one really ought to be giving. Amelia looked at Smith warily, what was his game?

"Yes," John cut in smoothly, giving Sherlock a pointed glare as he turned to give him a puzzled look. Even Amelia blinked slightly and turned to look back to him, since when was Watson happy to let Sherlock Holmes chat to a room of kids about murder?

"Yes!" Sherlock immediately corrected himself, sounding oddly bright as he looked quickly back to the room, nodding as he put his hands behind his back, swinging back and forth slightly on the spot, "Absolutely, yes..."

"Oh, hell," Amelia muttered to herself, briefly closing her eyes in almost despair as she saw Sherlock's expression shift, growing darker, harder...she could practically hear his brain kicking into hyper-speed, which typically led to nothing good when it involved a social setting. On a case, great, she loved seeing that look on his face...not while standing before a room full of children, though. It seemed rather dangerous. She shot John another little glance from the corner of her eye, seriously, never mind what Smith was up to, what was John's plan?

"The main feature of interest in the field of criminal investigation is not sensational aspects of the crime itself," he began to lecture to the room at large, sounding rather as if he was a professor as he wondered into the middle of the room, looking around the kids as he did so, "But rather the iron chain of reasoning, from cause to effect, that reveals, step-by-step, the solution," he paused briefly, turning back around to face Amelia and John, while Smith watched on with a delighted grin and John seemed to struggle to maintain his carefully blank expression. Amelia, however, merely observed him with a faint frown, but none of it seemed to bother Sherlock, who went on in his lecture, "That's the only truly remarkable aspect of the entire affair. Now, I shall share with you the facts and evidence as they were available to myself and Amelia, and in this very room you will attempt to solve the case of Blessington the Poisoner".

"I think you slightly gave away the ending," John remarked with a thin smile.

"Sherlock," Amelia sighed very slightly, smiling tightly as he began wondering back over towards her and John, giving him a slightly pointed glare, "Maybe we should talk about a different case, something a little less morbid...what about we tell them about Bluebell?" she threw out hopefully...but, to be fair, even that sounded like a case likely to traumatise at least a couple kids.

Better then telling them about the beheaded nuns, though.

"Oh, no, Amelia," Sherlock smiled with a slight shake of his head, glancing at her, "This is much better," he turned back to face the room, missing how Amelia lifted her eyes up towards the ceiling in exasperation, "There were five main suspects..."

"One of them called Blessington," John said lightly, earning a look from Sherlock.

"...but it's more about how he did it".

"Poison?" he lifted his eyebrows pointedly.

"Okay," Sherlock sighed, pulling a slight face...but it managed to get a laugh out of the kids, which instantly made Amelia's eyebrows rise hopefully and her lips to lift. Perhaps this wasn't such a terrible idea, after all...His eyes brightened, then, "Drearcliff House. Remember that one, John, Amelia?" he briefly blew out a sharp breath, not even giving Amelia or John a chance to say anything, going on in almost a rush, "One murder, ten suspects!" he excitedly held up his hands, showing his ten fingers.

"Ten, yeah".

"A fascinating case," Amelia nodded slowly, though some of her reservations had returned, eyeing Sherlock with a slightly worried look now. He seemed to be growing more frantic, his words, his actions, all of it felt borderline impulsive, rushed, it made her almost feel as if she was watching him starting to spiral. She had seen him do this before, but how was she supposed to try and get him out of this place without arousing any suspicions? He was on the edge, what that edge might be, even she wasn't entirely sure, but she could sense that something was brewing in his drug addled brain...it frightened her. She watched him closely, swallowing, hard, "Sherlock, I can tell the story, if you're not feeling up to it...?"

"All of them guilty," Sherlock continued brightly, utterly ignoring her...he had a wild look in his unfocused eyes now, a look that truly did make her afraid as she stared at him, "Amelia loved it," he grinned widely, but it only made her feel slightly sick to see it spread across his face, "Very Murder on the Orient Express..."

"Holmes, really," she gave him a slightly harder stare, her tone tense and sharp, though she forced her lips to remained lifted, "Let me tell this one, given how much I enjoyed it...seems only fair..."

"Uh," he paused briefly, and she thought she may have actually gotten through to him, but then he blinked and frowned thoughtfully, casting John a look, "Wh-wh-wh-what did you call that one, John? Um, something to do with murder at the zoo".

"Yeah, I called it Murder at the Zoo," John agreed instantly with little humour, if anything his lips tightened very slightly, though the rest of the room didn't seem to notice any tension, if anything they simply smiled, perhaps thinking it was a joke.

Amelia inwardly groaned.

Sherlock frowned, though, seemingly still puzzling over it, "Or...or was it The Case of the Killer Orang-Utan?" he glanced back to them as silence fell over the room, those who had been smiling exchanging slightly bemused looks amongst themselves, while John simply gave him a flat, emotionless stare...Amelia sighed very slightly to herself and ducked her head briefly. He turned back to the room, forcing a slight spring to his step as he began turning on the spot to look around the room, "So...any more questions?"

"No," the kids called out in unison, others shaking their heads in response.

"I don't think so," a young boy said over the other kids.

"No?" Sherlock lifted an eyebrow, still turning around slowly on the spot, his movements rather abrupt and with an agitation to them, making Amelia watch him with barely concealed concern.

"Mr Holmes?"

"Good, then I'll..." he paused, mid-sentence as he turned around to spot Smith sitting on a brightly coloured couch next to a couple of the kids, his hand raised in the air with a unsettling smile on his face. He held a Barbie doll absently in his other hand; Amelia's eyes seemed to be drawn to it briefly.

Smith continued to smile, looking perfectly innocently back at Sherlock, who had frozen in place and seemed to be staring at him, almost apprehensively, "How do you catch a serial killer?" he asked calmly, with little hesitation...he almost seemed to be quietly amused with himself, though only the very faint crinkle at the corners of his eyes was any indication of that.

Amelia, all the same, felt a cold shiver run down her spine, barely containing the urge to frown to deeply at Smith, who continued to watch Sherlock with mere innocent curiosity as he waited for his question to be answers. It was unsettling, the way he simply sat there on the couch, children sitting on either side of him, while he absently held a doll in one hand in his lap, she surely couldn't have been the only one to have noticed it, either? She glanced around the room, the kids obviously remained oblivious, but some of the parents and staff, likely well aware of the bad blood between Sherlock and Smith in the press currently, exchanged looks around the room. A tension seemed to slowly begin to roll through the air, thick and heavy, lingering between Smith and Sherlock as both men stared at one another, silent and almost assessing of one another. And then, finally, Sherlock opened his mouth.

"Same way you catch any other killer".

"No," Smith almost seemed to laugh briefly, shaking his head, "But m-most killers kill someone they know," he pointed out, making Sherlock actually blink slowly. Amelia narrowed her eyes on Smith...what was he hoping to archive with this, exactly? "You're looking for a murderer in a tiny social grouping".

The tension seemed to increase, growing heavier and thicker, spreading out across the entire room, until even the children seemed to be starting to sense that something was off, some of the older ones, anyway, who were starting to frown and look slightly uncomfortable. Several staff members also seemed to be watching on with wary expressions. Amelia eyed Smith closely, thoughtfully so now that some of the eyes of the room had switched their attention from off her, allowing her the chance to regard him more closely in the open. He was obviously trying to poke a reaction from Sherlock, but to what end? Just for the simple amusement of it? To attempt to make it plain for all to see that Sherlock truly had lost it? Perhaps a bit of both? It unsettled her that she couldn't quite get a reading off Smith, she felt as if he was in so many ways a perfectly open book, he hardly tried to hide anything...and yet, with that open book he still somehow managed to conceal so much.

"Um, Mr Smith..." the same nurse that had escorted them into the room cut in, then, smiling a little tensely from off to the side of the room, "Um, I'm...I'm just, er, wondering...Maybe this isn't a suitable subject for children..."

"Nurse Cornish," Smith said quietly, not even taking his gaze from off Sherlock to address her, but his expression had shifted...growing somehow tighter, harder...somehow less human, "How long have you been with us now?"

"Seven years".

He turned slightly in his seat to look back over his shoulder to her, his expression still unchanged...it made Amelia feel edgy, "Seven years," he repeated as he seemed to consider her, making the nurse smile slightly nervously under his gaze, "Okay," he nodded, almost to himself as he turned back around to settle those dark, unsettling eyes back on Sherlock, while the rest of the adults in the room seemed to have become frozen with something close to apprehension. His tone was oddly light as he continued, "Serial killers choose their victims at random. Surely that must make it more difficult?"

Sherlock stared back at him pointedly, his eyes wider and wilder than ever before, "Some of them advertise," he remarked knowingly.

His eyebrows rose in mock surprise and wonder, "Do they really?"

"Serial killers are easy," Amelia found herself saying, if only to attempt to verbally break through the staring contest before Sherlock and Smith, if only to try and prevent Smith from poking Sherlock right over the edge, as it seemed was the intention. Instantly, she held both of their attention, Sherlock blinked several times at her and frowned slightly, but Smith quickly arranged his expression into a look of polite curiosity. She kept her own gaze on Smith, her tone calm and light, but her expression was grim, edged with almost warning that she hoped dearly he would be able to read, "They are driven by their very own egos," she went on coolly, "By the need to have complete and utter power over everything in their life, but more often than not this complete sense of power and control can only be established at the point of murder being committed. But they're also desperately seeking out the need for validation..." she narrowed her eyes slightly on Smith, who was watching her with a small quirk to his lips now, "It's a performance, killing, an expression of their own inner turmoil and need, typically committed by individuals who feel as though they are outcasts from society, those who have suffered from varies forms of abuse throughout their life, people of below-average intelligence..."

The air was almost chocking with anxiety and apprehension now, Nurse Cornish, for one, looked highly uncomfortable as she looked from Smith and Amelia, who hadn't broken eye contact even once during Amelia's little lecture. But she wasn't the only one, most of the parents and staff in the room seemed to hold similar looks of nervousness now, while John was out rightly frowning at Smith, having taken a few steps forward until he was level with Amelia. Sherlock had even edged himself just that little bit forward, almost half placing himself in front of Amelia, his gaze fixed sharply and intently on Smith, almost as if he was preparing himself to have to throw himself at the man, if need be. It was rather sweet of them both, really, for one tiny second Amelia could forget that neither Sherlock, nor John, were properly even speaking to one another. But they had seemingly put that aside, for her sake, still working as a team, for her sake. She just wanted to hug them for that.

"No," Smith dismissed suddenly, shaking his head...he seemed completely unruffled by the whole thing, but Amelia could see a slight tightness to the corner of his eyes, a slightly forced cheerfulness to his tone, "No, no, no, no, no, Miss Wilson," he gave her a smile, though his eyes remained cool, "You're just talking about the ones you know, the ones you've caught," he laughed faintly then, "But hello, Misses, you only catch the dumb ones..." Amelia narrowed her eyes slightly; watching him closely as he suddenly held up his hand, "Now, imagine if the Queen wanted to kill some people. What would happen then?"

Amelia's eyes darted down to the Barbie doll still clasped in his lap between his hands, watching with a growing sense of uneasiness as he began very firmly pressing his thumb into the dolls head, crushing its face, a violent action that was completely against how perfectly calm and seemingly at ease he was. She swallowed, very slightly, a cold shiver running down her spine as she sensed that the entire room was watching the man, not a single one of them looking in anyway comfortable. And he was still talking, all the while.

"...all that power, all that money. Sweet little government dancing attendance..." Nurse Cornish looked away uncomfortably, a grimace on her face...she almost looked as if she wanted to flee the room, but was forcing herself to stand still and listen to him continue, "A whole country just to keep her warm and..." he smirked, then, looking up at the detectives, not even seeming to notice when he pulled the head right off the doll, "...and fat".

Amelia stared at him as he slowly blinked and glanced down at the doll in his hands, laughing very slightly to himself when he noticed what he had done to the doll. His whole little speech had been spoken completely calmly, but yet his hands had told another story. There was an underlying sense of fury there, she could sense it there, right beneath the surface, a rage that she couldn't quite understand or explain, but it was very real. If she had had any doubts about Smith being a serial killer before now, it all flew out the window. He was a killer, one-hundred percent; he was just like another version of her own brother, in fact, only perhaps with far less intelligence or scope.

"Hmm," Smith hummed thoughtfully to himself as he attempted to reattach the doll's head, before he suddenly broke into a broad grin and looked back around the room, focusing on the kids, "We all love the Queen, don't we?" he laughed brightly, playfully nudging one of the kids beside him, while Amelia and Sherlock stared at him, wide eyed and silently horrified, "And I bet she'd love you lot!"

John cleared his throat and stepped forward slightly, pulling the rooms attention onto him, "Uh, it-it's all right, everyone," he said hastily, trying to smile at the kids, but it looked tense, "I can personally assure you that Sherlock Holmes and Amelia Wilson are not about to arrest the Queen".

"Well, of course not," Smith agreed instantly, trying and failing to smile brightly, too, but it looked almost as tense as John's, but with a dark, frightening edge to it that was just uncomfortable to have to endure. Amelia frowned at him as he looked around the room, "Not her Majesty!" he turned, then, and looked directly at Sherlock, who watched him intently, "Money, power, fame..."

Amelia licked her lips nervously and glanced at Sherlock. It worried her how he was looking at the man, the dark, narrowed eyed look on his face, staring down the other man with almost perfect tunnel vision. He didn't seem to even remember that the kids were in the room, just focused on Smith, who seemed to be enjoying this little game, whatever it might be. She glanced over to John, then, and she felt relief wash over her, finding him frowning down at Smith. He seemed to have started to realise that Sherlock might actually be right to be so worried about Smith. That didn't mean that they would be okay, their little friendship group, but if John believed Smith to be a danger, he wouldn't walk away from this case. That was something, at least.

Smith smirked up at Sherlock, a dark, knowing look in his eyes, "Some things make you untouchable," he said softly, before raising his voice as he continued, "God save the Queen!" he looked cheerfully back around the room at the kids, shrugging slightly, "She could open a slaughterhouse and we'd all probably pay the entrance fee!"

John gave him a hard, flat look, "No one's untouchable".

"No one?" he lifted his head, scoffing slightly as he looked around the room, smiling slightly. It was deathly silent, everyone looked deeply uncomfortable, even the kids seemed to pick up that something unsettling was going on, even the younger ones seemed to be eyeing Smith with troubled frowns. Smith lifted his eyebrows, "Look at you all!" he laughed, noticing their expressions, "So gloomy! Can't take a joke?" his laughter was almost sickening to listen to as he shook his head, looking mockingly back up to Sherlock and Amelia as he rose from his seat, "The Queen! If the Queen was a serial killer, I'd be the first person she'd tell!" he pulled a fake haughty, knowing face, "We have that kind of friendship!"

Amelia barely held back her grimace of disgust. This man was truly foul, just watching him cackling away in front of them all, believing whole heartedly that he was above such petty things like laws and common human decencies. She could see it written plainly across his face that he thought himself untouchable; it was all just a game to him. Just a thrill. Smith suddenly began gesturing to Amelia and Sherlock.

"A big round of applause for Sherlock Holmes, Amelia Wilson, and Doctor Watson!" he called to the room, his humour seemingly dying down slightly as he waved a hand to each of them at his words, laughing again as a slow, slightly hesitate clapping broke out around the room. He clapped along with them, looking around encouragingly when the applause remained rather lame, "Come on! Wonderful!" he grinned as he turned around to face Sherlock and Amelia, eyes filled on them with a smug glimmer in his eyes, still clapping all the while...Amelia and Sherlock simply eyed him with knowing, dark glares, "Thank you so much for coming. Thank you..."

Amelia swallowed down the urge to throw up on his expensive, Italian leather dress shoes in her shear disgust of even being in the same room as this man, breathing the same air as him. She felt as if twenty showers wouldn't be enough to wash away the prickling sensation of his eyes scanning her form, watching her every flicker of disgust and dislike that flashed through her eyes. She didn't even care if he saw it. She glanced sideways at Sherlock, finding him already glancing at her from the corner of his eye, and even in his current state, she could see in the way that his jaw was locked rigidly that he was no more pleased about being in this room then her. She looked back across the room to John, only to find him looking back at them both, his expression hard and flat, the look in his eyes positively stormy. That lifted her sprites somewhat. John Watson was back in their corner, at least in this case, he was.

...

It wasn't long after Smith's less then excited applause for the detectives and John's presence, that Smith suddenly announced that he wished to give them a private tour of the hospital himself. It was plain to Amelia that many of the hospital staff found this odd that Smith wished to lead them around himself, but none of them dared to speak up or to offer to come with them, and so Amelia found herself forcing herself to place one Louboutin in front of the other and keep following behind the vile man, her mood boosted only very slightly by the fact that she had Sherlock and John walking with her, Sherlock ahead of her and right behind Smith, and John right at her heels. Smith led them through a series of very brightly painted, stark white hallways, seemingly with a destination already firmly in mind as he led them through the main areas of the hospital and into what felt like the staff areas, passing by office doors and storage rooms.

"Where are we going now?" Sherlock asked as they walked, having passed down at least another similar hallway to this one already.

"I want to show you my favourite room," Smith replied with an almost leery, smug tone.

Amelia very nearly run straight into Sherlock's back when he suddenly did a funny half-stop on the spot, peering through a slit window in a door they were just walking by. He didn't seem to notice or care, the side of his face positively lighting up in delight.

"No, let's go in here," he turned and grabbed the door handle, pushing it open and strolling right into the room without a pause.

"A tiny bit of warning, thanks, Holmes," Amelia muttered with an exasperated eye roll, but she quickly switched directions, too, moving to follow him, her eyebrows immediately flying up at the sight that she found upon entering the conference room.

A large, long table filled up much of the room, the room itself left dimly lit and the lighting that it did have seemed to have a funny, blue hue to it. Swivel office chairs sat beneath the table on each side, but the truly odd and note worthy thing about this room was the fact that a number of IV poles had been set up beside each chair, each with an empty IV bag left hanging up on the poles, the actual line of the bags having been removed. It was almost something you would expect to find in a horror movie or something. Sherlock walked around the table, eyeing the bags with hardly a shocked expression.

"So you've had another one of your little meetings," he remarked lightly, gesturing to the bags and throwing Smith, who stepped into the room behind John, a humourless, thin smile.

"Oh, it's just a monthly top-up," Smith said with a careless shrug, smiling as if it wasn't anything strange at all...Amelia leaned closer to one of the IV bags, though much of the ingredients listed in fine black print meant nothing to her, it was evident that it wasn't to boost ones hydration, "Confession is good for the soul...providing you can delete it".

John reached up to grasp one of the bags, frowning as he read the fine, black print, "What's TD12?" he asked, throwing Smith a puzzled frown.

"Judging from the contexts of the situation we currently are in..." Amelia levelled Smith a narrowed eyed look, "I think we can assume it has something to do with inhabiting memories, how that is even possible, I don't know..."

Smith smirked, his eyes lighting up, "Bliss," he simply said, making her frown at him. This whole thing felt far to sci-fi to her, and that was saying something, considering some of the cases she and the boys had worked on.

"Bliss?" John lifted his eyebrows, confused.

"Opt-in ignorance," Smith clarified with a rather smug smirk, shrugging, though it was rather plain to see that he was enjoying himself, "Makes the world go 'round".

Sherlock eyed him suspiciously, crossing his arms over his chest, "Anyone ever 'opt' to remember?" he questioned curiously, coming to stand just behind Amelia, his gaze on Smith.

"Some people take the drip out, yeah. Some people have the same...urges. Huh..." he suddenly clapped his hands and stepped back towards the door, "Come on. Wasting time".

"Indeed," Sherlock nodded lightly, almost casually so as he made a show of lifting his arm up and shaking back his sleeve, checking his wristwatch, "You have, I estimate...twenty minutes left".

Smith paused with one hand splayed across the door of the conference room, turning partly to grin back at them, seeming far more amused than he truly had any right to be, given the fact that they were basically catching him out as being a serial killer...or, at the very least, as being a very shady, creepy guy that possibly used experimental medication on people that erased memories. Who is to say that these people even consented? If one can't remember consenting, then it's not considered consent, is it? Also, doing it within a hospital seemed rather unethical, quite frankly it was a strange location. His expression suddenly became the very picture of confusion, his eyebrows shooting up almost comically.

"Sorry?"

"I sent a text from your phone, remember?" Sherlock reminded him, not pausing to allow him a chance to respond, speaking swiftly, "It was read almost immediately. Factoring in a degree of shock, an emotional decision and a journey time based on the associated address, I'd say that your life as you know it has twenty minutes left to run...well, no..." he paused to quickly check his watch again, ignoring how Smith continued to stare him with a rather comical bemused expression, "...seventeen and a half, to be precise, but I rounded up for dramatic effect," he shrugged, looking back up to Smith, who was now outright frowning at him, flapping a dismissive hand in his direction, "So please do show us your favourite room," his own expression grew cooler, his tone darkening as he slowly stepped closer to Smith, his gaze hardening sharply, "It'll give you a chance to say...goodbye".

Smith didn't even blink, managing to laugh in his face, as if Sherlock was the funniest person in the world, but there was something truly unsettling about that laugh. The look in his eyes was positively icy and unfeeling as he regarded Sherlock for a long moment; Amelia had to say that she had never before seen a less threatening, terrifying man in her entire life. Everything about him ought to be in no way scary, but then he would go and say something chilling or look at you with those emotionless, knowing eyes and bam! Even James Moriarty hadn't been able to pull it off this smoothly, well, smoothly and obviously. Smith shook his head and turned away from them again.

"Come along," he told them, his smile dropping, replaced with a dark, grimace that looked just simply horrible. It was the first true glimpse of him that Amelia had seen, she was positive as he walked back over towards the door.

Sherlock briefly smiled tightly, before almost instantly dropping it as he moved to follow him out of the room and back into the hallway, glaring at his back all the while. Amelia sighed to herself as she followed them...Smith had paused to hold the door open for them, and he caught her eye as she moved to slip through the doorway after Sherlock. He gave her a chilling, leery smirk that made her very blood run cold. She refused to drop his gaze; instead she pressed her lips together tightly and edged as far away from him as she could as she stepped out into the hallway, sensing his eyes on her back the entire time. It likely wasn't a good idea to place her back to him, she most assuredly didn't like it...she could practically feel those leery eyes moving up and down her form, but at least she didn't have to look at those eyes.

She increased her pace, until she was walking right behind Sherlock, who paused partway up the hallway to look back over his shoulder. He frowned as he looked at her; perhaps something in the way she was rigidly holding her jaw gave away her discomfort, because, curiously, he suddenly reached out to place a hand on her lower back, guiding her ahead of him with a brief flicker of an eye towards Smith. A dark scowl crossed his features as he did so. She suddenly felt ten times safer with Sherlock's hand on her back, the familiar, warm feeling of his hand on her back, his comforting, larger figure standing right at her back, between her and Smith, it made her want to melt back into him. But she didn't, she wouldn't have, anyway, even if they were still together, because that just...wasn't them, but the fact that he was clearly trying to protect her from Smith made her feel better. Smith chuckled quietly, instantly making some of warmth seep from her chest.

"This way".

Amelia frowned to herself as Smith took up the lead of their little group, her stomach positively falling through the floor when he turned and took them down a hallway, to where a lift was located, shinny, metal doors standing out starkly against the plain white walls. He reached out to press a button to open the lift, and she very nearly swore aloud in dread. A confined space with Smith and in a lift? Bloody hell...she wasn't overly keen on lifts at the best of times, but having to deal with Smith in one, too, was just borderline turning into massive, totally unfunny joke. Still, she sucked it up and forced herself to walk into the lift as it arrived and the doors opened for them, Sherlock and John joining her with Smith, the boys placing themselves on either side of her as she immediately moved to stand in the furthest, right hand corner of the small lift. And then it started moving downwards and Amelia barely stopped herself from shutting her eyes, not wishing Smith to catch sight of her discomfort, settling on toying nervously with her emerald, square cut necklace.

This was going to be the longest lift ride of her entire life.

"Speaking of serial killers," Smith remarked lightly, and entirely unprompted, "You know who's my favourite?"

The lift gave a gentle shudder as if came to a stop and Amelia allowed some of the tension to drop from her shoulders, sighing inwardly in relief as the doors binged and began to glide open for them. She couldn't even think up some sort of witty comment to throw back at Smith, she just wanted to get away from him as fast possible...and the lift. She really wasn't that big of a fan of lifts, for whatever reason. Sherlock didn't seem to have any such concerns, fixing Smith with a dry, flat look.

"Other than yourself?" he shot back, making Smith laugh lightly and John smile faintly, glancing up from where he had been leaning heavily against the wall opposite from Smith, looking a little worse for wear, himself.

Smith smirked and began to move to step out of the lift, "H. H. Holmes," he replied, throwing Sherlock an almost teasing look back over his shoulder, "Relative of yours?"

They began walking down a slightly gloomy hallway, which carried their voices easily all around them, the concrete walls painted a dark shade of blue and covered with large, circular lights, while metal, exposed pipes ran above them in the ceiling. The temperature had also dropped a few degrees down here, Amelia noted, feeling goose bumps popping up across her legs. They must be on the basement level, if she had to guess. She hadn't looked at the lift counter to check, having been far too busy just trying not to grimace openly...that had been rather remiss of her.

"Not as far as I know," Sherlock said flatly, curiously keeping pace with Amelia this time, instead of moving to walk closer to Smith.

"You should check. What an idiot".

Amelia didn't bother to hide her look of disgust that she threw at Smith's back, not that the man could see it, but she damn well hoped he could feel it burning him. H.H. Holmes was a foul, evil man, not just killing merely for the sake of killing, which in itself is a evil thing to do, but he did it for money, too, to turn a profit and gain other people's property, often selling his own victims' bodies off to medical schools in America in order to earn some cash and get rid of the evidence easily. Basically, he was like a serial killer that turned murder into a business, of course Smith would find that admirable. She found it positively sickening to her stomach.

They soon came to a set of light blue double doors, which Smith almost eagerly swung open and marched inside the room, the air instantly dropping to a positively cold point. Sherlock pushed the doors open again as they went to swing shut and Amelia barely held back a noise of disgust. This was supposed to be Smith's favourite room? She should have known, her eyes running through the room, which was lit up with stark, bright lights, the floor covered in industrial grade blue laminate, while an entire wall on one side of the room was covered in large, silver metal fridge doors. The middle of the room held a couple of metal examination tables. The dead body of an elderly lady was lying on one of them, covered from the neck down by a white sheet, while a man in green scrubs stood over her with a clipboard, evidently in the process of his examination, his assistant standing by a trolley covered with surgical tools. They both looked up sharply at their entrance, staring at Smith with slightly startled eyes.

"Everyone out," Smith ordered in a suddenly shift in mood. No longer was he the charming, laughing, possibly eccentric businessman that they had seen, now he seemed...darker, colder, almost emotionless as he grew closer to where the medical examiner stood over the body, staring at him. But his gaze was fixed on the body, unsettling so.

"Mr Smith," the examiner began with a slightly uncomfortable frown, lowering his clipboard, "We're actually in the middle of something..."

He lifted his gaze to fix him with a cool glare, "Saheed, isn't it?" he asked him with an eyebrow raised, edging closer to the foot of the table.

Amelia found herself lingering uncomfortably by the doors, next to John, who was watching the scene with a slightly shocked expression, while Sherlock moved to lean against an empty examination table just a few steps away, watching more curiously. It was so interesting to see just how fast Smith's entire manner could just switch, like flicking on a light switch, but of course, it was hardly shocking. The man was clearly a psychopath and an excellent decipher, using the very open to do as he pleased, because no one would ever imagine that the awful truth might be a reality, that all those little awkward jokes might not be jokes. Normal people didn't like to think that they might be interacting with an actual monster.

The medical examiner blinked very slightly, "Saheed, yes," he nodded slowly, eyeing Smith with a wary look.

Smith continued to eye him, his voice dropping until it was low and positively icy, "How long have you been working here now?" he asked, somehow more intimidating then when he had asked nurse Cornish upstairs.

"Four years".

"Four years," he repeated slowly, softly, somehow managing to make that even sound like a threat. Amelia narrowed her eyes, a prickle of something tingling at the back of her neck as she watched Smith nod in consideration, "Well, that's a long time, isn't it?" he briefly smiled, but it was rather unpleasant, more of a flash of teeth, which turned into a mean sneer as he levelled the poor man with an icy glare, "Four years".

Saheed visibly swallowed, looking positively frightened as he glanced across to his assistant, who stood awkwardly off to the side of the room, "Okay, everyone," he grabbed the corner of the sheet and pulled it over the dead woman, covering her completely...Sherlock frowned and shook his head in silent wonder, while John seemed to be eyeing how everyone just seemed to jump to attention with slight bafflement. Amelia just felt disgust, grimacing plainly as she stared at Smith's back...she never thought she would meet someone that she thought ought to be locked up more than her own brother, but Smith was proving to be almost worse. Saheed cleared his throat and glanced up to Smith, "Five minutes?"

"Come back in ten," Smith said coolly, his lips still lifted in something close to being considered a snarl and his gaze fixed steadily on Saheed, who gave him a nervous look, before turning away and heading for the door, his colleagues following him. John stepped aside to let them pass, "Saheed," Smith called lowly before the man could leave, making the poor man stop and look back to him, a look of almost dread written across his features, "This time, knock".

Amelia watched the man as he dropped his gaze from Smith and turned to practically flee the room, looking deeply unsettled by the obvious threat. She slowly edged closer to the emanation table as Sherlock moved forward, the doors of the room swinging shut as they were left quite alone with Smith, who calmly rounded the table to stand on the other side of it, looking utterly unbothered by the little display he had put on for them. The whole performance was just a little power play, a reminder to them that this was his territory and that he was in control of everything that they saw or felt. She was falling for it, but she had to admit, he made a good job of acting untouchable.

"How can you do that?" John frowned at Smith, eyeing him with a puzzled look as he stepped after Amelia, "I mean, how...how are you even allowed in here?"

Smith smiled and shrugged, "Oh, I...I can go anywhere I like," he told them happily, and slipped a hand inside his trouser pocket to pull out a large key ring positively loaded with many different keys. He held it up for them to see and shook it nosily, causing it to clink loudly, "Anywhere at all".

"How very convenient that must be," Amelia grimaced, looking at the keys rattling off one of his fingers with disgust.

"Oh, it is," he agreed smugly, smirking at her...she tried very hard not to just throw up.

John gaped at him, horrified, "They gave you keys?"

"They presented 'em to me. There was a ceremony. You can watch that on YouTube. Home Security was there".

Amelia gave him a thin smile, "Did we mention that we happen to know the unofficial leader of the British government?" she asked in an airy, mock curious tone as she pretended to peer at the sheet covering the body between them, "In fact, I once walked in on him wearing a bathrobe in the bathroom and flossing his teeth, now that was a sight forever burned into my memory," her eyes suddenly darted up to meet Smith's, whose smirk had grown a touch cooler, "If we're going to name drop to make ourselves somehow feel more important and special".

Sherlock made a curiously suspicious coughing noise from the other side of the room, while John ducked his head slightly and rubbing at his chin, though it wasn't enough to conceal his amused smile. Amelia held Smith's eye contact without blinking, refusing to back down, or at least to be the first to back down. He was a vile, horrible person that was plainly capable of just about anything, if she had to guess but she had grown up with James Moriarty literally sleeping the bedroom opposite from hers, she could handle him, perhaps not physically...or though, she reckoned she could probably lay him out with a decent smack in the nose and she could certainly smash her heel into his shin without much effort on her part, but she could most assuredly handle a war of words with him.

"I thought that was something you and Mycroft agreed to never speak of again, Amelia," Sherlock remarked lightly as he opened one of the large fridge doors, revealing three shelves for bodies to be placed in, this fridge containing only one covered by a sheet.

"Mycroft is not here to complain, Holmes," she said with a small shrug, eyes still on Smith, "And if my mind had to be scarred by it, then everyone else ought to be burdened by the mental image, too".

"Duly noted," he said as he peered inside the fridge, his tone growing a touch harder, "So, your favourite room, Smith, is the mortuary?"

Smith broke eye contact first, turning to flash a grin at Sherlock's back, "What d'you think?" he asked, watching him.

He bent down slightly to take a closer look at the single body in the bottom shelf, before shrugging, "Tough crowd," he commented with little emotion, straightening and shutting the fridge door with a loud snap, turning back around to face the room...he looked paler, now, Amelia noted with a flicker of concern.

"Oh, I don't know," Smith almost seemed to sigh, reaching out to grasp the edge of the sheet covering the woman laid out on the table between him and Amelia and John, pulling it back to reveal an elderly lady, her skin a bluish, ash grey tone and a red incision line running down her chest in a Y shape, disappearing beneath the rest of the cloth from her autopsy. He seemed to consider her thoughtfully for a brief moment, "No, I've always found 'em quite pliable..." he reached out and grasped the dead woman by her chin, using his fingertips to pull her jaw open and closed, like some sort of sick puppet.

"What are you doing?" Amelia exclaimed in shock, her eyes widening as she stared at him in horror.

"Don't do that," John snapped at the same time, giving him a look of pure disgust.

"She's fine," he continued to stare down at the woman's face, almost looking...entranced, "She's dead".

"She's a human being, dead or not!" Amelia glared at him, reaching across the table and grabbing his wrist, not caring in the slightest if it meant she actually had to touch him, not caring what consequence such an action may mean, she just couldn't stomach another second longer of watching him toying with the dead woman's face as if she was nothing more than a puppet for his amusement. She wrapped her fingers around the chilled flesh of his wriest and sharply tugged it away from the woman.

Smith blinked slightly in surprise, actually appearing caught off guard by the action as his eyes snapped up to her, "Miss Wilson..." he began with a slow curl of his lips, looking amused.

"Don't touch her," she said furiously, dropping his wrist and glaring at him, curling her hands into fists at her side. She was only vaguely aware of the fact that John had edged closer to her and was looking at Smith with a near threatening frown, while even Sherlock had straightened and stepped closer, his eyes suddenly sharp and moving swiftly between her and Smith. She took a deep breath, not breaking her glare from Smith, "I don't know what sick, foul games you play in your spare time, but in my presence you will show this woman respect".

"Will I, now?" he lifted his eyebrows, his tone growing oddly soft.

"Yes," she said simply, her own voice growing quieter, almost gentle, but for the fierceness in her eyes, "You will".

He laughed, then, and the sound was so oddly out of place and sudden that it was almost jarring, but she didn't flinch, she didn't even blink. She merely glared back at him, unable to see anything else but his grinning face as he threw his head back and laughed, as if she had just told him the best joke he had heard all week.

"Oh, Miss Wilson..." he chuckled with an almost appreciative once over, his gaze practically leery, but Amelia still refused to show any hint of uneasiness. His smirk was positively sickening, "Miss Wilson...Amelia...you are a riot. You've been wasted on this lump..." he gestured lazily over towards Sherlock, who barely showed any hint of emotion, but for a slight narrowing of his eyes. He looked her over again and leaned closer across the table, "I'd love to hear what you've got in store for me if I'm..." he sniffed purposely and it wasn't hard for her to deduce that he was smelling her perfume, "...bad".

Amelia swallowed down the urge to vomit and levelled him with the most icy, disgusted look she could manage, "H.H Holmes would have a better chance than you ever would," she told him, utterly revolted, "And he's been dead over one hundred and twenty years, and I'd still prefer his bony fingers on me".

"H.H. Homes was stupid," he shook his head, that twisted smirk still written across his lips, gazing far too intently, almost intimately, at her, "So stupid. You don't strike me as the type to like stupid, Amelia".

"Stop calling me by my first name," she said through slightly gritted teeth.

"Why stupid?" John cut in suddenly, eyeing Smith with a wary frown, his arm almost pressed up against Amelia. He looked deeply unsettled.

Smith finally dragged his eyes off Amelia to glance at him, "Well, all that effort," he shook his head, "D'you know what H.H. Holmes did? He built a hotel, a special hotel, just to kill people," he smiled very faintly, "You know, with a hanging room, gas chamber, specially adapted furnace. You know, like Sweeny Todd..." he laughed and looked back down to the woman's body between them, his eyes tracing across her features with a disgusting level of interest, "...without the pies!" he broke off with a laugh and turned away from the table, John immediately leaned forward to grab the sheet and covered up the lady. Smith sighed loudly, drawing their attention back over to him, still on the other side of the table, "See what I mean about a waste of effort and time? You don't build a beach if you want to hide a pebble, you just find a beach! And..." he paused, looking thoughtful, "If you wanna hide a murder, or wanna hide lots and lots of murders, just find a..." he paused and met John and Amelia's eyes purposely, his lips lifting into a chilling smirk, "...hospital".

John grimaced and looked down, almost as if he couldn't quite believe what he was hearing, before he lifted his head to look back at him, "Can we be clear?" he eyed him closely, "Are you confessing?"

"To what?"

He blinked, "The way you're talking..." he paused pointedly, giving him a look.

"Oh, sorry," Smith nodded slowly in realisation, or a mock of realisation, his eyes widening just a fraction and his voice softening. He paused briefly, almost considering it, "Yes..." he laughed quietly to himself, "You mean, am I a serial killer, or am I just trying to mess with your funny little head? Well, it's true..." he moved to step around to stand at the head of the table, eyes still firmly on John, who watched him carefully with a grim frown, while Amelia narrowed her eyes, "I do like to mess with people...and yes, I am a bit creepy, but that's just my USP," he briefly held up his hands on either side of himself, shrugging it off, "I use it to sell breakfast cereal. But am I what he says I am?" he pointed across the room to where Sherlock had moved to stand with his back to a large sink, watching them. He looked intently back to John, "Is that what you're asking?"

Amelia glanced over to Sherlock, only to frown, feeling her heart drop slightly. He was already starting to twitch again, his eyes looked blown wide and he had a look on his face that looked as if he was just barely keeping himself still, his skin a sickly grey tone beneath the harsh lighting of the room. Even his cheek bones seemed to be sticking out more than normal...he looked sick. She wondered how long he would be able to hold it all together, she didn't even understand how he was still standing and present with them right now, when she was so used to seeing him usually rolling around on the floor, half-consciousness and babbling incoherently when he was this high. She wanted to just grab him and force him to check into a bed upstairs, let her carry on this case, but she knew it would do little good.

"Yes," John said with a stern glare at Smith.

"Hmm," Smith hummed thoughtfully at that, and moved to step around John and Amelia, both of them turning to watch him go, keeping him in sight as he stepped up to the end of the table, "Well, let me ask you this..." he turned back around to face them, gaze fixed on John this time, "Are you really a doctor?"

"Yeah, of course I am," he frowned slightly, nodding in confirmation, while Amelia eyed Smith suspiciously, trying to see what his point was.

"Well, no, a medical doctor, you know. Not just feet, or media studies or something".

"I'm a doctor".

Smith snorted quietly at that and narrowed his eyes on him, "Are you serious?" he scoffed, eyebrow raised, almost mockingly...John gave him a baffled look, "No, really, are you?" he moved to walk away, only to stop and take a step back towards them again, staring at John the entire time in disbelief and anger, "Are you...are you actually serious?" he shook his head and walked away, glaring at him now, "I've played along with this joke. It's not funny anymore. No...look at him!"

He threw his hand out and pointed at Sherlock, who was practically hugging himself now, slowly breathing in and out, puffing his cheeks out as he did so, looking either close to being sick or fainting, it was hard to tell, but Amelia could only stare at him in slight misery and pain. He blinked rapidly, seeming utterly unaware of them looking at him, or the look of slight shock on John's face. The high was fading, it would seem, or so Amelia could only guess as she watched him with a sick pit in her stomach. How was he even still standing? How the hell?

"Go ahead, look at him, Doctor Watson!" Smith practically jeered at John, pointing at Sherlock, "Hmm?" he lifted his eyebrows as John looked at him, utterly silent, and he shook his head dismissively, "Oh, no, I'll lay it out for you," he held up two fingers and walked back over the table, glaring at John, "There are two possible explanations for what's going on 'ere," he suddenly gestured to himself, "Either I'm a serial killer..." he turned on his heel, then, and pointed at Sherlock as he walked closer to him, "...or Sherlock Holmes is off his tits on drugs, hmm? Delusional paranoia about a...a public personality?" he scoffed loudly, "That's not so special. It's not even new!" he stepped directly up to Sherlock, dropping his voice to a stage-whisper, "I think you need to, er, tell your faithful little friends how you're wasting their time because you're too high to know what's real anymore..."

Sherlock frowned at him, swallowing slightly as he eyed him, until Smith turned and calmly walked away from him. John shifted on the spot and looked down, his face creasing slightly with a touch of worry, suddenly looking doubtful, afraid that he might have been fooled all along. Amelia, however, shook her head firmly, glaring angrily at Smith.

"That may work on the masses, but it won't work on me," she warned him in an almost threatening growl, feeling boiling anger bubbling inside her very veins, her cheeks flushing from the heat of it, "Gas-light away as much as you want, but I see you, Smith. I see you".

Smith gave her an almost sympathetic smile, shaking his head lightly at her, "Your loyalty is touching, it really is," he told her with something close to a kind look, walking back over towards the table, "But you don't owe it to him," he sighed, almost looking sad...it was unsettling, to say the least, "And I know it's not his fault, he's sick, I get that, but you've got to know that there comes a point when you've got to stop playing into the delusion. It's only making it worse..."

Amelia opened her mouth; utterly furious and outraged...John even put his hand on her arm, as if readying to stop her from possibly throwing herself across the table at him, when Sherlock cleared his throat. They all instantly looked at him.

"I apologise," his voice was soft, his eyes downcast and heavy, "I...I...I've miscalculated," his eyes widened and he looked up suddenly, almost seeming startled, "I forgot to factor in the traffic!" he exclaimed, rolling his eyes at himself as he stretched out his arm to pull back his sleeve, checking his wristwatch, before throwing Smith a pointed look, "Nineteen and a half minutes".

Amelia lifted an eyebrow and watched him, almost feeling as taken aback as the rest of the room was as they stared at him. He cleared his throat and walked closer to the doors, only to pause halfway and purposely cup his ear, as if listening. In the distant, down the hallway, the muffled noise of the lift clanging open reached them and he grinned, pointing at Smith, who looked utterly baffled now.

"Ah, the footsteps you're about to hear will be very familiar to you," he warned him, dropping his hand from his ear, "Not least because there'll be three impacts rather than two. The third, of course, will be the end of a walking cane," he stepped slightly closer towards Smith, who stared at him with a truly baffled expression now, even Amelia and John were frowning at him, not that he seemed to notice, "Your daughter Faith's walking cane".

Okay...this was taking a slight turn; Amelia had to admit to herself, peering curiously from Smith to Sherlock. Smith's daughter wasn't a public figure, not at all like her father, but Amelia had managed to do a tiny bit of digging into her during her own quick look at Smith. The girl walked with quite a prominent limp, using a walking stick to assist in her balance, though it didn't seem to impact her from wearing small heels. But what did the daughter have to do with this, she wasn't entirely sure.

Smith seemed to fail to see the connection, too, regarding Sherlock with an eyebrow raised, "And why would she be here?" he asked, evidently perplexed.

"You invited her," he replied, smiling tightly, "You sent her a text...or...or...or technically I sent her a text, but she's not to know," he glanced back over towards the doors, before his eyes widened slightly and he suddenly looked up, "Ah, let's see if I can recall: 'Faith...I can stand it no longer, I've confessed...to my crimes. Please forgive me'".

Ah, so that had been what the message had been about, but Amelia was still mildly confused. What did Faith have to do with Smith? It wasn't like Sherlock to use family members against suspects to get them to confess, it seemed...odd. And Smith hardly seemed the type to spill due to being forced to look into his daughter's eyes.

"Why would that have any effect?" Smith smiled thinly at him, evidently still horribly confused, but still trying to keep the upper hand, "You don't know her".

"Oh, but I do," his smile widened, and Amelia instantly frowned, her head turning sharply in his direction, gaze fixing on him. Okay...what the hell was she missing? Something big, something very big, "I spent a whole evening with her," his smile widened, utterly obliviously to the fact that everyone was staring at him, "We had chips. I think she liked me".

"Sherlock..." Amelia began carefully, softly, moving to walk slowly around the examination table towards the curly haired, sickly pale detective. She was actually starting to feel a little alarmed now, because there was no way that Sherlock could have met Faith Smith, Mycroft would have known about it and he would have informed her if Sherlock had had any visitors this past few weeks, hell, Billy would have told her, that's why she paid him to watch over Sherlock when she couldn't. There was no way Sherlock Holmes could have had any physical contact with Faith Smith without her knowing about it, so what the hell was happening?

"You don't know Faith," Smith insisted, not even allowing Amelia to say another word or for Sherlock to respond, his gaze having moved off Smith to look at her, "You simply do not," he smiled, though it was closer to a grimace.

"I know you care about her deeply. I know you invited her to one of your special boarding meetings," he edged closer to Smith, "You care what she thinks," he paused, briefly, and smirked smugly and laughed, pointing at him, "You maintain an impressive facade..." his smirk vanished, growing harder, "I think it's about to break".

Amelia actually started feeling rather nervous, now standing just four steps away from Sherlock, her eyes fixed on him with increasing alarm and concern. John had moved around to stand a few feet away from him, too, looking just as confused and worried, eyes darting warily between Sherlock and Smith. Something was very wrong about this whole thing, seriously wrong, Sherlock wasn't right, there was no way he could have met Faith Smith and spoken to her, shared bloody chips with her, even, it wasn't possible. She would know about it, but she didn't, so...was it a delusion? She one-hundred percent believed that Smith was a serial killer, that she knew to be true, but how exactly had Sherlock come to that conclusion? He was clearly trying to claim that it was because of Faith coming to see him, but if it wasn't possible for that to have happened...was this just his own drug addled mind playing tricks on him? Making up a story in his own head based from facts he had noticed within the media. It just...didn't make any sense.

"Sherlock," Amelia tried again, her voice firmer, dragging his gaze back over to her. She gave him a sharp frown, "What exactly are you talking about?"

Sherlock returned her frown faintly, "She came to Baker Street..."

"No, she didn't," Smith smiled slowly, a knowing look starting to spread across his face.

He looked back to him, "She came to see me because she was scared of her daddy," he said to Smith, almost sighing.

"Never happened," he laughed slightly, "Is this another one of your drug fuelled fantasies?" he glanced across to John and pulled his lips down slightly, as if to say, 'Yikes, you listening to this nonsense?'

Amelia frowned and looked at John, who looked at her, meeting her eyes, his lips pressing into a hard line. This wasn't good, it would seem that they were both in agreement that whatever the hell was going on now, Sherlock seemed to be in the wrong, at least in this regard. Amelia knew that there was truth to the rest of it, but...did John see that, too? If Sherlock really had just invented having hung out with Faith Smith, then that meant that he lost all creditability in everything else, and even if she was to back him up, she had little evidence but her word, at this point.

"Well, let's see, shall we?" Sherlock continued with his eyebrows lifted, almost smugly. He glanced towards the door, "Faith, stop loitering by the door and come in!" he raised his voice to be heard clearly, turning his gaze back onto Smith, "This is your father's favourite room..." he slowly began to turn away from Smith, just as the door squeaked open and someone wearing heels slowly entered, a third light tap of the end of a walking stick hitting the floor sounding, "Come and meet his best friends..."

He turned to face her fully...and stopped, freezing on the spot, his eyes widening slightly as he watched the young woman approached them. Amelia turned to watch the young, fair haired woman, too, shoulder length hair lightly brushing her shoulders, that were covered by a dark silk, floral blouse tucked into a black pencil skirt and tights, medium high heels tapping lightly against the floor. She was a fairly pretty woman, younger then Amelia, but with high cheek bones and a pair of glasses on the bridge of her nose. She was dressed rather well and while her limp was quite preannounced, it didn't appear to limit her mobility greatly as she strolled confidently towards them, standing around 5'5.

"Dad?" Faith asked in slight puzzlement, a light Northern accent colouring her words as she smiled, bemused, at Smith, "What's happening? What was that text?" she smiled and shook her head, the doors shutting behind her, "Are you having one of your jokes?" she laughed, pausing as she caught sight of Sherlock and Amelia standing close to her father. She gave them a polite look, "Who are you?"

And in that moment, Amelia's heart truly did just sink straight through the floor and any hope she might have had, utterly dissolved along with it. She looked quickly to Sherlock, who was staring at Faith, looking utterly shocked now.

"Who the hell are you?" he frowned deeply.

Smith grinned and stepped passed Amelia and Sherlock, walking over to his daughter, "Sherlock Holmes and Amelia Wilson!" he said brightly to her, glancing at her and back to the detectives, his gaze lingering on Sherlock, "Surely you recognise them!"

"Oh, my God!" Faiths expression cleared with recognition, her eyes lighting up.

"Mm!" he hummed in agreement, smiling tight lipped at her.

"Sherlock Holmes, Amelia Wilson!" she shook her head in delight, flashing Smith an excited smile, before turning back to the detectives, "I love your blog".

"You're not her," Sherlock said instead, blinking rapidly as he stared at her, his features screwing up in confusion and alarm. Amelia could only look at him, her heart racing and a sick sense of dread rushing through her veins, "You're not the woman who came to Baker Street".

Her smile slipped slightly, "Um, well, no," she said with a shake of her head, looking slightly bemused, while Smith stood by her side, eyes fixed on Sherlock, smirking, "Never been there".

Amelia felt sick, truly, completely, sick as her mind worked frantically, just trying to figure out a way to fix this, but she just...couldn't. She didn't know what to do, Sherlock was basically unravelling before her very eyes and has heartbreaking as it was to witness, maybe this needed to happen for him to get better, for him to realise that he had gone too far and needed to seek help. Or maybe it would mean something worse for him, she didn't know. They were standing on a tipping point and she just...didn't know what to do.

"Sorry," Sherlock said in an almost rush, still blinking rapidly, "I'm not sure I completely understand..."

"U...understand what?"

Smith gave him a mock confused frown, moving to stand between his daughter and Sherlock, eyeing Sherlock, "Well, I thought you two were-were old friends!" he gestured between Faith and Sherlock.

"No!" Faith laughed slightly awkwardly, "We've never met".

"Oh, dear!" Smith began laughing, then, pressing his fingertips to his lips and backing back beside his daughter, looking at Sherlock with obvious amusement, "Oh!"

She looked to Sherlock, giving him a polite, if rather confused look, "Have we?" she asked him, while Smith cackled beside her.

Amelia looked at Sherlock, watching him worriedly, but she just didn't know what to do, what to say. She just felt so afraid for him, so worried. John shifted and stepped closer, too, eyeing Sherlock with a slightly concerned frown.

"Sherlock?" he watched him, lips parted slightly, while Faith joined in with her father's laughter, if slightly more bemused.

Sherlock shook his head slowly, not seeming to even hear John, "So who came to my flat?" he fixed his eyes on Faith.

Faith gave him a slightly apologetic look, "Well, it wasn't me..."

Smith laughed even louder, "Oh, no!" he practically hooted in delight, doubling over to giggle, Faith quietly laughing along with him again.

"Sherlock," Amelia looked worriedly to him, frowning openly at him, her voice soft as she watched his expression grow deeper and deeper with confusion, almost looking physically pained as he tried to make sense of it all. It almost hurt her to see him trying to process it all, "Sherlock, it's...it's okay..." she murmured, swallowing, hard, "You made a mistake, and is it any wonder? You're not well..."

Sherlock, however, was shaking his head, his gaze fixed on Faith, "You..." he began slowly, hesitantly, "...look...different".

"I wasn't there," Faith told him, slightly more firmly, sending Smith off into another round of laughter. He squeezed his eyes shut and almost seemed to shake himself, grimacing, "I'm sorry, Mr Holmes, but...I don't think I've ever been anywhere near your flat".

In that moment, it was as if something inside of Sherlock just began to snap, Amelia could see the disbelief and shock move across his features, his lips trembling, as if he was struggling to suddenly hold back tears, and his eyes narrowed as he lowered his head. She glanced at John, who was staring at Sherlock in alarm, clearly not knowing what to do, and she just felt helpless. She reached out to touch his arm, looking worriedly into his face, but it was as if Sherlock was lost in a world of his own.

"Oh, dear!" Smith laughed, pressing his hand against his lips again in a poor attempt to stop giggles from escaping himself, eyes lit up in delight, "Oh, no!" he was positively roaring with laughter, rocking back and forth on his feet, making quite the display, while Sherlock lifted his hands up to cover his mouth and nose, backing away from Smith, from all of them, a look of horror written across his features. On he giggled, "Oh, no!"

"Sherlock, breath!" Amelia urged him desperately, her clenching her hands at her sides, just to stop herself from rushing forward and grabbing Sherlock. He looked like he was in the middle of having a panic attack; she didn't wish to make it worse by making him feel crowded, so she held herself back from reaching for him again, watching him fearfully, "Sherlock...it's going to be okay..."

"God," Sherlock gasped into his hands, his voice muffled as he squeezed his eyes shut, looking pained and panicked as he cradled his head in his hands, briefly hunching over himself...he turned, then, a hand covering his face, only to bump into a nearby table with a tray covered with surgical scalps laid out over it, and he jolted away from it at the clatter.

"Sherlock," John watched him with obvious alarm and concern.

"Sherlock, breath!" Amelia half-pleaded with him, truly starting to feel real, horrible fear for him as she watched him stumble on the spot, his eyes glazed over with a strange, frightening look in his eyes, before he stopped...and seemed to stare at Smith, who was still laughing loudly, "It's going to be okay! Just calm down!"

"Sherlock?" John tried again, an alarmed frown on his features, "Are you alright? Sherlock, are you okay?"

Sherlock suddenly gasped and pointed at Smith, his eyes wide, "Watch him!" he cried, truly looking utterly panicked, "He's got a knife!"

"What?" Amelia exclaimed, her mouth falling open in shock.

"I've got a what?" Smith laughed incredulously.

"Shut up, Smith!" she whirled around to glare at him, furious, "You are not helping!"

"You've got a scalpel!" Sherlock shouted at Smith, his eyes looking almost mad, "You picked it up from the table!" he pointed across to the table he had bumped into, and Amelia blinked, glancing over it to see that there was a scalpel that seemed to be missing from amongst the others that had been laid out over the tray, "I saw you take it!"

"I certainly did not!"

"He wasn't anywhere near the table, Sherlock..." Amelia began in a forced, strained attempt of sounding calm.

"Look behind his back!" Sherlock demanded, almost sounding maniac now, pointing at Smith.

"What?" Smith smiled, and shook his head at him as he brought his hands up and shook them, putting on quite the display of showing that he didn't have anything hidden in his hands or up his sleeves, laughing.

"I saw you take it!" he yelled, right on the edge of falling into total hysterics, positively shaking with anger, "I saw you!"

And then, quite suddenly, he had his hand up and he was brandishing a scalpel in it, holding it out towards Smith with a mad, wild look in his eyes. Amelia gasped in horror and automatically stumbled back from Sherlock, while John was suddenly at her side, throwing an arm out across her, trying to shield her, almost, even though it just seemed too absurd that Sherlock could even attempt to hurt anyone. Smith's eyes widened and his smile slipped clean off his face, replaced with a look of true shock as he backed away, hands still raised.

"Whoa!" he cried, actually seeming finally alarmed, while Faith flinched and fearfully covered her mouth, looking frightened, "Whoa, whoa!"

"Sherlock, stop it!" Amelia gasped, appalled to see what was happening to him, to Sherlock of all people, that he could have actually have been driven to this point...she felt sick to her stomach, she wanted to reach out and hug him, but she couldn't, because as much as it broke her hearts to admit it, she couldn't trust Sherlock not to turn around and possibly accidently hurt herself or John.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" John stepped closer to Sherlock, moving so that he was in front of Amelia and Smith, holding up a hand as he fixed Sherlock with a stern, commanding glare, "Whoa, Sherlock, d'you wanna put that down?" he pointed at the knife in his hand, which trembled within his grasp.

"Oh my God," Faith breathed somewhere amidst the mess of shouting that the room had dissolved into.

Amelia felt desperate, frightened tears threatening to sting her eyes, tears of frustration and despair, watching as Sherlock blinked rapidly, that wild look still plain to see in his glazed over eyes. He looked down at his hand as it trembled with the knife clutched in his hand, his knuckles bone white...he suddenly squeezed his eyes tightly shut and ducked his head, breathing heavily as he lowered his hand, bringing his other hand up to rub at his eyes, grimacing, before he suddenly pointed a shaking finger back up to Smith, glaring savagely at the man.

"Stop laughing at me!" he hissed at him.

"I'm not laughing!" Smith replied quickly, hands still raised, frowning at him.

"He's not laughing, Sherlock," John confirmed firmly, not taking his eyes off Sherlock, his hand still raised and an oddly calm expression on his face.

It wasn't enough, none of it was enough.

"STOP LAUGHING AT ME!"

The roar came out of Sherlock like nothing else Amelia had ever heard from him before, a pure, savage, furious shout of a man that had been utterly pushed to his limit and then some, and the look on his face...it was a look of a wild man, utterly crazed and beyond reason, so it was no surprise to her when Sherlock lunged for Smith with the scalpel raised, running at the man. No surprise, but it still caused her to cry out in horror and shock,

"Sherlock!"

Faith screamed, Smith gasped and tried to stumble backwards, and Amelia utterly froze on the spot, but John Watson reacted, throwing himself forward at Sherlock and seizing him by his arm that held the scalpel, pushing his left shoulder into Sherlock's body to stop him from lunging any further, while he used his open palm of his left hand to slam down against Sherlock's hand, knocking the knife from it. It clattered nosily onto the floor and Amelia came back to life, running forward to kick the knife far across the floor on the other side of the room, spinning back around in time to see John bundle Sherlock forcibly backwards until his back hit one of the fridge doors, Sherlock grunting in pain at the sudden, hard impact. John gripped him tightly by the front of his coat.

"Stop it!" he shouted in his face, furiously, and slammed him into the door again, causing Sherlock to gasp, "Stop it! Now!" he shoved him again, bouncing him off the door, "What are you doing?" he dropped his grip from his front, only to slap him clear across the face, causing Amelia to gasp, "Wake up!"

"John..." Amelia began, moving forward...He punched him, John punched Sherlock right in the face, and suddenly Sherlock was collapsing onto the floor in a heap with a loud, pained grunt, blood splattering from his busted nose everywhere, dripping down his face. She stopped, short, and had to reach out and grab the edge of one of the examination tables to keep herself standing, so stunned, because as furious as John Watson was, she didn't think he would ever have hurt Sherlock like that, not when he knew that Sherlock was already so sick and comprised as he was. She gripped the cold metal tightly, her eye wide, "John, stop it!"

He didn't stop, he punched him again, and Sherlock slammed back down onto the ground, crying out in pain, gasping through the blood still gushing from his nose. He struggled to prop himself back on his elbow, John looming over him, his fist raised.

"Is this...!" he yelled furiously, bending down and punching him again, "...a game? A bloody game?"

Sherlock tried to rise himself again, looking utterly miserable, face covered in blood, when John went to lift his right foot up to kick him...Amelia couldn't watch any more, she just couldn't.

"John, enough!" she shouted angrily, running forward to latch herself practically on John's back, his face twisted up with pure rage as he aimed a kick at Sherlock in his stomach, the impact lessened by her clinging to his back. She gritted her teeth and tried to pull him away, "Stop it, for God's sake, John! You're going to kill him, he's sick!"

"Amelia!" John snapped back, struggling against her, trying to kick out again at Sherlock, though he missed, barely, "Let go!"

"He's on the ground already; you are not bloody well kicking him when he's already on the floor, John! He can't even defend himself!"

Suddenly, two men in light green scrubs came running over to them and Amelia found herself being pulled away from John, who continued to struggle and try to kick out at Sherlock, who laid in a ball on the ground, breathing heavily. She dropped her hold on John and backed away, panting slightly, her hair slipping slightly from it's carefully styled bun as the men moved to take over for her, managing to seize John by his arms and to completely drag him away from Sherlock. Amelia dropped to her knees next to Sherlock and placed a hand on his arm, his entire body shaking. She looked back up to John, staring at him with wide, horrified eyes...it hit her, then, that John could have very easily have thrown her off him, he was far stronger then her, even if she was taller, but her heels put her at a disadvantage, which a trained solider like John would have known, but he hadn't. He hadn't even fought her that hard, hadn't tried elbowing or kicking her, his rage was aimed completely at Sherlock.

"Please," Smith came hurrying forward, looking urgently to John, suddenly the picture of complete concern and worry, "Please, please, please, no violence," he held up his hands and gave John a grim smile as the men released him and stepped back, "Thank you, Doctor Watson," he moved to peer down at Sherlock still lying on the floor, a bloody cut on his left eyebrow and blood spewing from his nose and mouth. He eyed him, still the picture of concern, sighing as he looked back up to John, who panted as he stood straight and tall on the spot, clothing and hair askew, "But I don't think he's a danger any more. Leave him be".

Amelia glared up at Smith, pure disgust and hatred in her eyes, "Say one more word, and I swear to God," she glared up at him, her voice a low hiss, "I will chock you with my bare hands, here and now, Smith".

Smith gave her a mock shocked look, but as he turned his head slightly out of view from the others in the room, his lips lifted a touch, "You've had an ordeal, Miss Wilson," he said sympathetically, nodding in understanding, "Just like Doctor Watson..."

"It's...it's okay," Sherlock said shakily, instantly drawing everyone's attention. He slowly began to lift his head, just slightly, "Let John do what he wants. He's entitled," he grimaced and lifted his head higher, looking over to John, "I killed his wife".

Amelia closed her eyes and sighed heavily, but she quickly looked up when she heard John take a step forward, breathing in sharply through his nose. He glared directly down at Sherlock.

"Yes, you did," he agreed, his voice tight, furious, breathing heavily through his nose as he continued to glare down at him.

Sherlock held his gaze for a long moment, before his eyes began to grow heavy and he lowered his head back down, while John turned away from him and walked away. Amelia barely held back tears as she looked down at Sherlock, her hand still on his arm...he looked at her and she could only see misery and pain. Her heart broke. What had they come to?

Happy New Year, guys! I hope everyone had a good Christmas and start to the New Year, and that you're all safe. Tell me what you thought, please review :)