AN: So I got a review saying Amelia is Mary Sue, and if she seems to be, I'm really sorry. I'm kind of bad at working with a lot of characters at once so developing Amelia is sort of difficult right now.

ALSO! I want to thank who reviewed! And let you know that I didn't intentionally put Amelia Smith as a sort of tribute to Matt Smith and Karen Gillan. :P I figured Smith was the most common surname in Britain, and I love 'A' names and Amelia was the first to come to mind for personal reasons.

But! If you want to think of Amelia Smith as Karen/Matt I can't hold it against you. Thanks, guys.

It was easy for Amelia to blend in, especially in a busy city like London. So, stepping out of nondescript hotel and walking towards Mycroft's office building, she knew that none of his CCTV cameras were on her. She looked like anyone else. Her long sleeves covered her arms tightly, loosely hanging everywhere else. Her long trousers, covering her common, black trainers were also loose in the legs and tight on the waist. Even her hair was nothing special, up in a pony-tail, short bangs covering her forehead. Her bag, the only thing of price, draped across her body, leather worn and, though it didn't look it, was big.

As she stepped into the lobby, she saw one of the many drivers Mycroft had his political hands on and smiled, slipping her hand into her pocket and showing him her ID. He nodded, and she walked towards the lift, pushing the correct floor correct floor button. Once it got to the floor that held Mycroft's office, she showed her ID once more, to an assistant.

"I'm Amelia, and you're a new face!" Her smile was genuinely friendly. "What's your name today? I know Mycroft advises his assistants to tell people different names." She tapped one side of her nose with her right index finger.

The woman, eyes only a bit wider, smiled back. "You can call me Kylie."

Amelia nodded and began to walk past. "I know he has a few guests in there. One of them called me over, so I'm just going to go on in. He'll know I'm here." She didn't turn around to talk to Kylie, because Amelia knew the young woman was following her. Knocking once, she opened the door to the three gentlemen she had seen a few days previous.

"Mycroft, dear, tell your friend here she's not in any trouble letting me in. I know she's a busy woman."

In response, the politician walked towards them with a smile beginning to pull at his lips.

"It's alright, Kylie. Amelia often does this when she's in town. Thinks she owns the place, the girl does." He waved her off, taking a piece of paper from Amelia when she walked past him.

Amelia's face lit up on Greg and set her bag on Mycroft's desk, hauling herself to sit on it like a proper teenager. "I've got word," she whispered, leaning toward John, "that your surgery is doing very well." She grinned at his astonished look.

Mycroft tutted at her, eyeing her as she sat on his desk. "It's no worries, Dr. Watson. She looks into everyone she works with. Bit of a bad habit of hers."

"And what," Sherlock said, looking at her with a tad bit of disdain, "does she know about you, brother?"

Mycroft just waved his hand, and Amelia dug through her bag for her file of Moriarty. She gave it to him, slipping off the desk so he could sit behind it.

"These are very vague, Amelia," Mycroft said, lifting his eyes.

She frowned, a look that turned her whole being slightly somber. "They're facts, Myc."

Sherlock, with a roll of his eyes, repeated her, "Myc."

She flicked her eyes to him before letting them fall back to the detective's brother. "I mean, these are people on the streets. Most of them risked their lives telling me where they'd heard the name." Walking to the window, she absently took her hair down and pulled her fingers through it. "I couldn't do much else without getting into anything deeper than talking to shady characters."

"Amelia," Lestrade murmured, meeting her at the window, "I know you usually like infiltration, but this…this empire is too dangerous."

"And maybe you should let someone more experienced try," Sherlock added.

"Sherlock!" Greg warned, casting a glance his way.

Nodding, Amelia turned and flitted toward Mycroft. She smiled down at him, batting her eyelashes.

He pursed his lips, shaking his head. "I will not give you permission to go and penetrate whatever that man has created. Amelia, you are eighteen years old! Imagine what would happen if they found out what you were truly up to."

She scowled at him. "Mycroft, if I could get close – if I could work my way up to James, I could easily get into his head."

"Right," Sherlock scoffed, "you."

Her gaze finally landed on him and she stepped away from Mycroft. Her eyes were on Sherlock steadily, her body tense and rising to its full height. Her face, though, was what caught the men that knew her previous off guard.

It was a mixture of sweet calm and blinding anger. Her eyes seemed to have a shadow in them. Slowly, she licked her lips, a dangerous challenge it seemed, and she started to move forward as if she wasn't even thinking. With a foot between Amelia and Sherlock, her eyes caught his in a locking gaze.

He was frozen, and his mind and face seemed to be wiped from any thought. He was preparing to defend himself, in the safest way possible. It wasn't as if he wanted to hurt Amelia, but he would shove her off if need be. Sherlock knew it would take just a moment longer for any of the other men in the room to grab for her if she made a move, and he hoped she was just going to say something. He was caught a bit off guard, but he wouldn't tell anyone else that. No, Sherlock Holmes was not intimidated, but he was slightly entranced.

She cleared her throat suddenly, dropped her gaze, and rubbed her face before turning away with a smile.

"Oh, do forgive me! I haven't a clue what happened. Seemed a thought wanted to be spoken, but it went away just as quickly."

Sherlock released a breath behind her, and his legs seemed to want to buckle, but instead his weight fell back and he leaned against the wall.

"Sherlock," she said, a chipper tone lacing her features, "sorry, dear, you're okay, though, right?"

Grabbing her bag, she walked towards the door. "I've got to run. Ever so hungry. Meet you lot in about an hour. Ciao!"

As the door closed behind her, Mycroft rose from his chair to check on Sherlock.

Furiously, Sherlock swiped at his hands. "That-that-that girl! That child is unbelievable." Then he stalked to sit down in a chair across from Mycroft's desk.

Greg took a deep breath. "I have never seen that expression on her face."

Mycroft shook his head. "No, me either. And I've known her for about three years." He bit the inside of his lip for a moment before settling down in his chair behind the desk and opening the files.

"It was like all the energy around was drained and focused into some sort of… I haven't got a clue what it could be," Greg said, running a hand through his hair.

"Well it's done now," Sherlock snapped, leaning back in a quiet huff.