(( OMG I am so sorry that this chapter has only just been posted. I have been so busy I haven't had time to upload anything. But here it is!
Thanks for the reviews so far, keep them coming. ))
The following day wasn't as exciting. Mrs Hudson kindly made tea for Amy that morning, all while ranting at Sherlock for firing his blasted gun in the early hours and not cleaning up, then Amy headed out in an attempt to find a job. If she didn't start looking now she might not in the future.
No such luck.
When she got back at the flat, Mrs Hudson informed the red head of a part-time job at the cafe next door. Amy definitely took it into consideration - it might be her only for now.
The next day was the same to start with. She didn't entirely mind the continuous job searching; she enjoyed the walked around Westminster. London wasn't a place she had been to that often. Only a few times had she visited the great city with the Doctor, and most of those times hadn't always been in the present day. It was a lively, charismatic place with some incredible architecture and enlightening places to visit. She loved it!
It was when she started walking back to 221b that things started to differ from the previous day. As she reached Baker Street a black car pulled up alongside her, slowly. At first she thought nothing of it.
"Amelia Pond."
A male's voice stopped Amy in her tracks. For a second she paused, and then turned on her heels. A tough-looking guy stood at the side of the car, dressed smartly in a suit. He looked like some kind of secret agent out of James Bond.
"Who are you?"
There was not much of an expression on the man's razor cut features. "There is no time for questions, Miss Pond. Get into the car."
"Why?"
"Get into the car, Miss Pond."
Apprehensively, she did as was requested, muttering; "A please would be nice."
Another man inside the car slipped a blindfold over her eyes, leaving her subjected to total darkness for no less than half an hour. It was therefore impossible for her to know where she was going.
A thought hit her: was she being kidnapped? These men could be dangerous criminals for all she knew. Even though she remained calm she couldn't help but think about what might happen to her later on. It couldn't be good...
Then she had another thought: if she was being kidnapped, wouldn't they have just taken her? Straight from the street without muttering a single word? Then again, with the public around, snatching her would be too obvious.
I'm not being kidnapped, don't be silly, Amy.
When the blindfold was lifted, she saw that she was sat at a long, narrow table in what appeared to be a boardroom. It was grandly decorated. Bookshelves lined both walls on either side. A chandelier hung in the centre of the ceiling and a window was situated to the far end of the room, right in front of her. Whoever owned this place must be very rich.
While she had been looking around, a man of medium height, smartly dressed and holding an authoritive posture, entered. In his hand was a briefcase that he placed on the table. "Amelia Pond, I believe." He took a seat two seats away from her. "Or do you prefer Amy?"
"Yes..." she spoke after clearing her throat. Curiosity swam in her eyes.
"I am pleased you decided to come."
"I don't think I had that much of a choice."
"No," he chuckled. "I suppose you didn't."
"Why am I here?"
"There are, Miss Pond, some matters I wish to discuss with you. One which is of great importance, and perhaps great interest to you."
Her brow furrowed and he continued. "I believe you have moves into 221b Baker Street."
"How do -"
"How is it?" A smile curled at his mouth gradually.
"Who are you?"
He sighed, standing up, moving over to a cabinet where he poured himself a drink. "It does not matter who I am. Just answer the question, Amy."
Swallowing, she shifted in her seat. "It's fine."
"What about your flatmate?"
"Yea, he's fine, too. Everything is fine. I don't under-"
"So you haven't noticed anything unusual then?" he questioned, sitting back down. He knew who this woman was and what she wanted to know simply by examining her. "No police outside the flat? Body parts in the kitchen? Gun fire in the early hours of the morning?" He smirked.
"Actually, I did find fingers in the fridge-"
"I could imagine."
"-and I did have to confiscate his gun this yesterday morning. He doesn't seem to talk much, either. He can be quite rude at times, too."
"That sounds like Sherlock."
Amy leaned forward, elbows resting on the table and her chin resting on her hands. "I get the impression that you know him."
"A lot of people know Sherlock. Or know about him at least. Except you don't it appears."
"Is he some kind of criminal?"
This made the man laugh. He could be. People often mistake him for one sometimes. "Quite the opposite."
Inhaling deeply, he opened the brief case. "I assume you are curious to know more. Let me help you with that. You may want to read these." He handed her a pile of paper that had been pulled from the brief case, which she took. The headline 'Suicide Of Fake Genius' immediately grasped her attention. "They may come in handy," the man added.
They were articles. Amy scanned through the first and second pages, very much aware that the man's eyes were on her the whole time. The first article was about the suicide of the consulting detective, Sherlock Holmes. The second was about someone called James Moriarty who had stood trial for attempting to steal the Crown Jewels. Sherlock Holmes had stood against him in court.
"I take it the information I have given you has answered any questions you may have had," the man interrupted.
"Yeah... Some of them. Only now I have more questions."
"He faked his death."
Amy suddenly lifted her head to face him. It was as if he had read her mind. "How?"
"All will become clear when you read the next page. I took the liberty to write up an explanation to clear up any confusion. But read it in your own time, if you will."
She put the papers down. "This is all I was brought her for? Just so you can give me these? Why are you telling me all of this?"
"Because Sherlock wont. And you have a right to know who you are living with and what you are letting yourself in for. When you walk with Sherlock Holmes you see the battlefield. Of course, you've seen it already, although I doubt very much that it's the kind of battlefield people would expect. Sherlock Holmes is a dangerous man, Amy."
"I'm not scared of dangerous men," she replied firmly.
"No, you're not. Although, I didn't quite mean it like that. He's a danger to himself."
"You're telling me this because..?"
"I want you to keep an eye on him for me, if you will. He is reckless, Amy, and obsessed with his work. Factors which almost destroyed him last time. He needs someone to keep him on the straight and narrow. We'd do not want a repeat of previous events. With John now living away from Sherlock you are the closest person to him."
"Okay, but why can't you keep an eye on him?"
The man stalled for a moment, his index finger tracing the rim of the glass in front of him. "I have a busy job…"
"Fair enough. It's nice to know you are concerned about your brother, at least."
Surprise washed over his features. "I never said anything about him being my brother."
"You didn't have to. I'm not a complete expert when it comes to families but I know family concern when I see it. And you've written your name that third page. Mycroft Holmes. A bit of a giveaway."
Silence started to creep in. The sound of Amy collecting all the papers up broke it. "Is that all?" she asked, standing to leave. "I need to get back."
The man stood as well. "Don't let me keep you, by all means. But before you go." He called out for someone. The man from before entered, blindfold in his hand, which Amy notice and she knew what was coming next.
"Is the blindfold really necessary?"
"It is if you want to keep your life," Mycroft answered bluntly. "This building is top secret."
With that, Amy's vision disappeared for a while until she was finally dropped off at Baker Street. It had been an enlightening encounter with Mycroft Holmes.