Mycroft stood outside Scotland Yard with John Watson as a taxi pulled to a halt in front of them. He pulled a cigarette from his pocket and lit it, offering one to John who shook his head.

Amelia stepped from the cab, tipping the driver with a smile. "Gentlemen," she greeted, taking out a prepaid phone from her pocket. "I called a friend of mine for help and he said he'd be happy to help us. He owes me a favor, and I thought he'd be perfect for this. He has plenty of skeletons in his closet that Moriarty can use against him."

"But what exactly could he ask Moriarty for?" John said, following Amelia and Mycroft into the Yard.

"A way to get here from the States. He moved there a few years back, but got into a bit of a tiff with his now-ex-girlfriend, and I've been able to manipulate a few of Moriarty's associates to contact him."

Mycroft pulled out his phone and scrutinized Amelia. "What's his name?"

Amelia rolled her eyes, glancing at his hands. "Kyle Montgomery, but honestly Mycroft, he's an asset to my job and taught me everything I know now about infiltration. Plus, I doubt you'll find any records on him."

"What if these associates have heard of him?" Mycroft asked, looking down at her.

She pursed her lips, looking at him as if he had asked the most obvious question. "He uses aliases, plenty of them."

"So Kyle isn't his real name?" John questioned.

Amelia shrugged, smiling as she entered Lestrade's office. "I don't know, and since I'm in the minority about me going in, I can only think to ask and send him. Anything, Greg?"

Lestrade shook his head. "No, but I want to type up all that you have on Moriarty, though, Am."

Mycroft coughed eyes steady. "I don't think that's a good idea. If he has access to the government files, and it's quite possible he does, the information is best safe in her hands. She's an outside party."

"Who has been brought to the inside," Lestrade countered.

"Who doesn't let anyone really look at them and keeps them on her person at all times," Amelia butted in, sitting down in the chair next to Sherlock, keeping her eyes on Lestrade.

Sherlock glanced at her, returning his attention back to his phone. "Your memory good, Amelia?"

She smiled and replied in the positive, reclining back in her chair. Her hair was bundled in braids at random, and her clothes were lazily big and draping across her figure, except her trainers, which were fit on her small feet and tied tightly.

"Are you feeling alright?" John asked Amelia, stepping in front of her.

She frowned, lifting her head to keep his gaze. "Yes, I'm fine. Why?"

"You're flushed, and it's chilly and rainy out."

Her frown turned into a smile before waving at him. "Nah, I'm fine. I'm all bundled up; it's just a bit of allergies from the cleaning supplies at the hotel." Clearing her throat, she let her eyes follow Mycroft around the room as he paced for a moment. "Myc, that's your 'I've just thought of something' stance."

He chuckled a bit, nodding and coming to a stop. "Yes, it just occurred to me that your friend, this Kyle whoever could be of some use. With you."

Lestrade cleared his throat with surprise. "With her? Why? Amelia can't go in."

"No, but she could. She's already contacted some of Moriarty's men for this Kyle fellow, but if she's gotten to them, they're not going to let her go. How'd you contact them?"

Amelia sighed softly, shrugging. "I was… I went to a couple of different people who were named by my contacts."

"Against our word?" Lestrade demanded, loud enough for Amelia to bow her head like a scolded child.

"It was to get us started, Gregory. It's not like I gave them a real name. I didn't even use my proper name for the hotel."

"Amelia," Lestrade said tone tight, "I told you before, you're a profiler. I don't want you going in."

Mycroft took a deep breath, obviously trying to calm the tension down. "Look, Detective Inspector, when I first met Amelia, she was 15. I thought she was just some out of luck girl, but word got around that I needed help and she helped me. Obviously, I hadn't encouraged her, but she aided me anyway. Infiltration is her specialty. She's a human tracking device. You may hire her for profiling, but she can do more. We can use her friend, but they wouldn't suspect Amelia."

"I have many personas, Greg."

"Won't it be suspicious if you keep coming here or Mycroft's?" John inquired, drawing attention to him.

"She has a prepaid phone, John," Sherlock said, finally speaking. "Along with her personal one. It's not odd if she uses her prepaid phone to have them contact her. Many shady businessmen have more than one phone. They'd see her as having experience."

"I don't like it," declared Lestrade.

"You're outnumbered, Greg," Amelia said with a grin. "Now, how about I use Katrina Jones, the drug addict? She's quiet, but knows her way around the streets. She's a dealer, and well off. The only reason she still deals is because she likes the danger, and she can't really get out of the life she built."

"Established, I see," murmured Sherlock disdainfully.

"Had an employer with an addict wife," she informed him, crossing her legs primly, lie falling out easy for Mycroft's sake.

Of course Sherlock wouldn't remember Katrina. He had been so strung out, he hardly recognized himself in the mirror when Mycroft and Amelia hauled him to a hotel bathroom to wash his face and arms. She hadn't stayed long, but it was enough to let her see the danger in the Holmes brothers - Mycroft a man of power and Sherlock of physical strength. After that, Amelia had kept out of London most of the time to keep from Mycroft.

Greg exhaled noisily. "I don't like it," he repeated. "But I'll help set you up, give you essentials. Let's get started."

"May the games begin," she announced.

John and Mycroft were the only ones to notice how her statement sounded much like Sherlock when receiving he received a case.