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?

6. Chapter 6 The Six Thatchers, Part 6

The Six Thatchers, Part 6

Snow was still falling outside, drifting past the Elizabethan era windows, building up along the edges of the outside window sill, while the glass was frosted. The fire was blazing in the original fireplace, filling the oak panelled room with warmth and a pleasant, cheerful glow that instantly made the young, nineteen year old Amelia think of many happy Christmas that she had shared with her family beneath the roof of the old manor house her family had owned for generations. Amelia herself couldn't help smiling very faintly as she leant against the open, heavy wooden door of her father's office, peering inside the ancient room that had always felt like such an out-of-bounds place for her when she had been a little girl. It hadn't changed in the slightest, still the same wall panels, the same dark stained floorboards and Persian rug covering them, still the same bookshelves that ran along the right hand wall, filled with volumes of books and personal knick knacks had dad had picked up over the years. The oak mantelpiece was covered in pictures, most of them taken from her youth, including several embarrassing early teen photos of her with bracers and glasses, one with her grinning widely back up at the camera from beside a handsome chestnut brown horse, holding a royal blue 1st Place Ribbon up for the camera to see, her hair tied back in neat, French pigtail braids.

It warmed her looking over all the framed, proudly displayed pictures, even if most of them were rather mortifying and she would rather die than let any of her uni friends catch a single glance of them. She was even mildly surprised to find that a few pictures of James were still among the photos, she would have thought that her father might have decided to take down any hint of his estranged son, but she supposed her father was still a sentimentalist at heart. She pulled her dark gaze off the photos and instead focused on the man himself sitting at his desk at the end of the room, before the great window, scowling in concentration and peering through a pair of thin, wire rimmed glasses on the bridge of his long, straight nose at a stapled stack of papers. He seemed to be half-way through this report, while she could spy at least another four similar stacks of neatly arranged papers on the edge of his large, polished wood desk.

Andrew James Moriarty was still quite a handsome man, even if he was starting to show his age. His once dark brown, almost black hair styled combed back off his face, just as his son wore his own hair, while his features, though starting to grow increasingly lined, remained handsome and sharp. He wasn't a greatly tall man, but he had a certain presence about him, and intelligent, warm blue eyes that were often quite sharp. Despite it being the just days after Christmas, he still dressed as though he had just arrived home from the office, wearing a dark grey perfectly tailored suit and red tie. One might even call him something of a silver fox these days.

Amelia sighed, watching him continue to read through the business report, and plucked a strand of dyed, jet black hair up to examine the dead straight strand for any sign of damage, "Can't that wait until after the New Year, Dad?" she asked with a rather bored tone, twisting the strand of hair around her finger as she looked back across the room to him.

"The work is never done, sweetie," he told her, his thick, Irish brogue lacing every word as he kept his keen gaze on the report before him.

She puffed an impatient breath of air through her lip-gloss painted lips, rolling her eyes as she pushed away from the door to move further into the room, dropping with little care onto one of the leather, wing backed armchairs that sat before the desk. She swung her legs up and over the armrest of it, mindful to keep her mini pink and white plaid skirt from rising up as she crossed her black, tight clad legs. She ideally twirled another strand of hair around her finger as she gazed around the room in search of something somewhat entertaining to amuse herself with, though nothing jumped out at her.

"Don't you ever get tired of it, though?" she looked curiously back across to him, lightly kicking one bare, tight clad foot over the side of the armrest. She grimaced sightly in distaste as she eyed all the neatly arranged stacks of papers he had on his desk, "I mean, don't you ever wish you could do something new and different? I can't imagine there's a great deal of difference in real estate development".

Andrew smiled slightly, lifting his highly amused gaze up to her, as though she had just said something very funny, "The market is always changing, Amy," he reminded her pointedly.

"You know what I mean, Dad," she rolled her eyes again, shrugging, "It's still the same thing, doesn't it get boring?"

"It's work, it's not supposed to be all fun and games, sweetie. That's what hobbies are for".

"Yeah, but considering that people spend most of their life at work, don't you think it should be at least a little fun?"

"It can be," he told her, lowering the report onto the desk before him and clasping his hands together on top of the still open page, peering across at her with still the same, faintly amused smile, "I enjoy the work I do, I also enjoy all the privileges that working hard and doing the things that aren't as fun have allowed me to provide you, Amy, which is the best possible future I could have hoped for. I work so that your future will always be safe and secure, and your children's, for that matter".

"I'm nineteen, Dad," Amelia smirked back at him, dropping the lock of hair back onto her pale pink turtleneck jumper, "Can will maybe leave the whole future kids talk to when I'm at least thirty? Besides…" she gave another small, lazy shrug and looked away from him, toying with the cuff of her sleeve, "Who says I even want kids?"

He gave her a knowing look, "I was eighteen when I had my first child".

"Yeah," she scoffed slightly, throwing him a pointed look, "Which you didn't even know existed until four years ago, so maybe not your best example".

He sighed slightly at that and briefly a look of regret crossed his features, before it was gone, but Amelia still caught it. She almost apologised for speaking to casually and bluntly over the whole orderly, knowing that it was something that her father truly did regret. She knew that her dad, for all his flaws, did truly love his children and wish the best for them, and while he might have strange ways of sometimes dealing with said children, she knew that one of his biggest regrets was never having had any involvement in his eldest son's life. And besides her own issues with her big bro, blood was still blood. She shifted slightly in the chair, making the leather creak.

"I…didn't mean it to sound so harsh, Dad," she said softly, giving him an awkward, apologetic look as his eyes snapped back up to her, "Really, I…" she sighed and shifted so that she was sitting properly in the chair, dropping her legs onto the floor, while she faced him properly, face on, "I don't suppose you've heard from Andy or James at all for Christmas or New Years?"

He shook his head, his expression growing harder, "Not that I expected to," he said lightly, but Amelia could see that it still hurt, even if she did have to admit…he had brought it on himself by kicking them both out of the house and, pretty much, from the family.

She licked her lips, briefly tasting her strawberry lip-gloss, "You could always reach out to them," she suggested hesitatingly, quickly going on when she noticed her father frowning at her, "I mean, I could try tracking them down, if you'd like, you know how good I am at detective work," she gave him a grin towards the end and a hopeful look.

"I don't think that would be a very good idea, sweetie," Andrew sighed, his expression grave as he regarded her with gentle eyes. Amelia dropped her eyes onto the front of her jumper, feeling oddly deflated by the rejection, "I am grateful for the idea, though…" he continued softly, making her eyes flicker up again to meet his, "I still stand by my choice, Amy".

"Dad…they're still you're sons," she said quietly, giving him a long look, "That has to count for something, you can't just…pretend as though they aren't your kids. Okay, so James I can understand you wanting nothing to do with…" she closed her eyes briefly, shaking her head when she saw her father about to interrupt, "He made his choice long ago and he's obviously decided to head down a very dark, dangerous path, but Andy, Dad?" she opened her eyes to give him a pointed look, "He never had a father figure in his life before, then his mum was sick and eventually lost her battle with cancer, all while Andy had to be by her side. Is it any wonder that he went off the rails?"

For a second she thought she might have gotten through to her father, just a tiny bit, she saw it in his eyes when she was speaking of her half brother's rough upbringing. But then Andrew sighed heavily and reached up to slip his glasses off, sitting them back down on top of his paperwork as he pinched the bridge of his nose, shaking his head lightly. Amelia could have screamed in frustration, feeling her heart sinking as she realised that it still wasn't enough, but she knew her father. She knew how much he loved his children and how he would one day come to regret what had happened between himself and his sons, Andy especially, and she didn't wish for him to have to suffer with that guilt when there was still time to fix it. She was the only child he had any sort of relationship with now, she had to try and do something.

"Amy…" he began with a heavy voice, dropping his hand from his nose and opening his eyes to look back across to her, his gaze full of misery, "They're criminals, I won't, I can't, have people like that in our lives. I just can't," Amelia nodded without a word and swallowed hard against the bitter taste of failure, dropping her eyes down onto her hot pink nail polish coating her fingernails, listening to her father heave a long sigh, "But…" his tone grew slightly more resigned, and her head snapped up to look at him hopefully, only to find him frowning faintly at her, "I can't stop you from having a relationship with them, if you wish. You're nineteen now, and you're smart enough to know what's best for you".

"Yeah, I am smart enough to know what's best for me, Dad," she nodded, grimacing slightly, "And trust me, I know that the last thing I need in my life is James, twin or not. He's insane and he'll try dragging us all down with him, give him half a chance. And Andy…" she paused, feeling a flash of guilt and old hurt wash over her for a second, guilt for the way she had treated him when he had first come into their lives when she was just a stupid sixteen year old, and hurt from…well, how it had all fallen apart. She looked back up to see Andrew watching her with a concerned frown and her shoulders sagged. She hadn't told him before, but she knew he would only insist, so she reluctantly said in a flat voice, "The last time I saw Andy, Dad, he called him a 'Hateful, vile little bitch,' so I'm pretty sure he wishes to never see me again, for as long as we both live".

Andrew's eyes widened, first in shock, before anger quickly began filling his handsome features and he pushed his leather desk chair back so he could stand, "He said what?" he asked in a very soft, deadly calm voice as he looked down at her, anger practically simmering in his narrowed eyes.

"Dad, calm down," Amelia shifted slightly uncomfortably under the weight of his glare, though she knew his anger wasn't directed at her, she still felt bad for having brought up the matter in the first place. Her father rarely got angry, but when he did there was sure to be hell to pay, "It doesn't matter…"

"Yes, it does, Amelia!" he snapped angrily, slamming his flat palm down against his desk, making a loud bang. She flinched at the noise, though she kept her eyes locked steadily on his, "How dare he speak to you that way, I'll hunt him down and…"

"And what?" she jumped onto her feet, too, glaring back at him with an eyebrow arched and a scoff, "It's just words, hurtful and cruel as they might have been, but that was four years ago now. It's done with. Besides…" she shrugged, crossing her arms across her chest, "He thought I was the one who told you about the warrant out for his arrest, why wouldn't he hate me?"

That did seem to help ease Andrew's temper, though barely. She could still see the veins in his neck bulging and the angry flush in his cheeks, but he didn't seem to be able to go storming out of the room at any second. Instead, he curled his palm still pressing against his desk into a tight ball and took a long, deep breath, some of the tension in his shoulders easing as he breathed out again.

"It still wasn't right," he said, more quietly now, his voice rough and his accent even thicker than usual.

"Maybe not, but it is what it is, Dad. Look, forget about it, I just…I just came to check on you, anyway, it's late and you're still working".

Changing the subject…that seemed like a really good idea right about now.

Andrew clearly knew what she had tried to just do, but he seemed to have calm down enough to let it go, "I've still got a few more reports to go through before I can head up, sweetie," he told her, suddenly looking as though he had aged ten years in the span of a few words, peering up at her with a tired, worn smile, "But I was thinking maybe we could go up to Dublin tomorrow and have a proper lunch in a real pub, not one of those flimsy, five-star restaurant dinners…" Amelia laughed at the face he pulled, as though the very thought was terrible, even though she knew for a fact that he more five-star dinners in a year then she went shopping. He smiled at her warmly, eyes twinkling and a small dimple in his cheeks, "So, how about it? And then we can go do something fun afterwards, not shopping related," he pointed a firm finger at her when her eyes lit up in delight, though he was still smiling.

"I'd love to, Daddy," Amelia grinned, laughing slightly, all the tension from their previous conversation seemingly fading from the air and from her shoulders, "But seriously," she gave him a pointed look, her smile dimming into a hard look, "You've got to take care of yourself better than this, get a decent nights sleep and relax a bit. You've already had that scare with your heart last year…"

"Oh, I'm fine, I've even cut back on the smokes".

Her expression remained stern, eyeing him with sharp, narrowed glare, "It's a start," she said, though with great reluctant that made it quite plain that she expected better.

Andrew moved around his desk and came to stand before her, reaching out to lightly tap her chin with his knuckles, making her smile despite herself, "Don't you worry about me, princess," he told her gently, peering intently into her eyes as he placed a hand on her shoulder, "I'm the parent here, I'm the one who's supposed to be worrying about you. Now, off you go, bed".

Amelia rolled her eyes, even though she still couldn't stop smiling at the affection in his gaze and the familiar touch on her shoulder, a touch that had nothing to do with some random guy trying to flirt with her in a night club or someone just trying to get her into their bed, a gesture completely pure and full of love. She had forgotten how much she missed just that simple sort of human touch while she had been away at school, a touch born from love, and not anything else.

"Only if you promise to sleep sometime tonight, too, Dad," she said with a pointed look, playfully hitting his arm.

He pressed his hand over his heart, meeting her eyes with the most sincere look possible, "I swear to it, Amy".

Amelia didn't completely believe him, but she decided to let it go and instead stepped forward to throw her arms around him tightly, making him laugh and hug her back just as firmly, almost a little painfully, but in the best way possible. His musk scented aftershave filling her nose as she pressed it into his shoulder, just like she used to when she was little and she would curl up on his lap while he would be watching TV. It made her heart feel lighter.

"I love you, Daddy," she said as she pulled back, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek, "Night-night".

"Love you too, sweetie," he smiled softly back at her, not seeming to notice, nor care that she had just left lip-gloss on his cheek, "Sweet dreams".

She gave him one last little smile before turning on her heel to cross to the room, glancing back one last time to see her father already making his way back around to sit back behind his desk, slipping his glasses back on up his nose…

"Amelia?" a distant, smooth and deep, male voice was calling her. Amelia frowned, suddenly finding everything around her melting away into nothingness, until she seemed to be in inky blackness, her father's office gone as she peered around her. A dull, throbbing sensation hit her then and she grimaced, hitting her somewhere behind her left eye, "Amelia, that's it, I need you to wake up for me…"

She remembered then that it was all just a dream, though was it really a dream if it had actually been a memory? No...her brain really wasn't up to considering the philosophy of that question, feeling another pang of throbbing pain go through her head. Something warm was cupping her cheeks, slightly callused along what she thought was the fingertips of the right hand, calluses that she recognised as a sign of a classical violin player who frequently practiced. That was very familiar to her, that sensation, but it took her an embarrassingly long couple of seconds to remember why, and then it hit her: Sherlock. It was a great relief that it wasn't some random person touching her, but someone that she trusted and, more than that, loved, but with that recognition also come back the memory of just how she had gotten herself into this fuzzy, slightly muddled state. Mary had drugged her, while they had been trying to urge her to let them help her. If Amelia had been even a little more orientated right now, she probably would have felt pretty annoyed with the woman.

"Amelia…"

Amelia followed Sherlock's voice and managed to open her eyes, immediately squinting them with a pained moan as the lights of the vault filled her field of vision around the edges of Sherlock's slightly blurred face as he peered down at her, his face close to hers and a faintly concerned expression, though he had obviously only just woken up from his own drug induced nap himself. He was bending down over the chair she was still leaning back in and his expression, the moment she opened her eyes, seemed to clear with something close to relief.

"You're alright," he reassured her as she blinked rapidly, feeling horribly confused still, reaching up to curl her hands around his wrists as he cupped her face between his hands, thumbs gently brushing against her jaw line, "You're alright, just breathe. It'll take a moment".

"Mary…" she asked weakly, before clearing her throat.

"Gone," he said grimly, "And she took the memory stick with her".

Amelia closed her eyes briefly, mentally trying to slap herself, as if that would actually help her when her brain still felt as though it was filled with fog and her body ached from being slumped back in the hard, plastic chair for so long without moving. She opened her eyes again and met Sherlock's gaze, giving him a firm nod, and he gently removed his hands from her face and she dropped her own from his wrists. But he remained close by her side as she struggled to pull herself up off the chair, wobbly unsteadily as she did so, but he made no move to assist her, for which she was grateful because she needed to try and do it herself. He did, however, offer her his arm once she was upright, which she did lean on gratefully, giving her head another sharp shake to try and clear the fog.

"Remind me to thank Mary the next time I see her for the flash back her drugs gave me," she mumbled, glancing at Sherlock with still slightly narrowed eyes, though her vision had improved significantly and she was starting to feel somewhat awake now.

Sherlock frowned at her, "Flash back?" he repeated, eyeing her with something torn between curiosity and something else, almost…recognition.

"Yeah, I dreamed about the night my dad died," she sighed, reaching up with her other hand to press her fingertips against her left eye, "The last conversation we had. He had a massive heart attack a few days before News Years, 1998. I found him the next morning, I…hadn't thought about that night in a long while".

"How…curious," he murmured, though he was still regarding her with an odd little frown, before he shook his head and glanced at her again, "We should be going, Amelia. We need to pay a little visit to my brother".

Amelia gave another pained groaned and turned her face into his arm.

…

Mycroft looked between the still rather dishevelled looking Amelia and Sherlock from behind his desk in his office of the Diogenes Club. Amelia couldn't remember feeling quite so subconscious and messy in Mycroft's presence before then she did now, still dressed in her black jumper that smelt of dust and Chlorine, and her black skinny jeans that had dust marking the dark fabric and her boots, which had mud scuffing them along the toe from when she had tripped trying to leave the church yard. At least her tan trench coat still looked okay, but her hair, she knew, was a complete mess and had fallen out of its styled half up-do and her makeup was completely gone now, save for the dark smudges around her eyes that she had ordered Sherlock in the back of the cab to try cleaning up for her before she had to face his brother, who naturally looked impeccable in his three piece suit, even at three in the morning. Over all…Amelia Wilson was a very unhappy woman, indeed, as she sat tiredly and slightly slumped in the chair before Mycroft's desk, Sherlock in the next chair beside her, which Mycroft had ordered his assistant to have brought in upon catching sight of the pair of them.

"Agra?" Mycroft lifted an eyebrow in mild confusion, eyeing Sherlock, who looked rather impatiently back at him. He glanced across to Amelia, who simply gave him a sharp look to get on with it already, and shrugged lightly as he toyed with a pen in his fingertips, "A city on the banks of the river Yamuna in the northern state of Uttar Pradesh, India…" Amelia blinked slowly, wondering if the drug was still in her system right now as she listened to him continue to prattle off the facts quickly, without blinking or drawing in breathe, "It is three hundred and seventy-eight kilometres west of the state capital, Lucknow…"

"What are you, Wikipedia?" Sherlock cut across him, regarding him with slightly narrowed eyes, but otherwise he seemed quite unsurprised.

He smiled faintly, "Yes".

"Well…" Amelia sighed, raising an eyebrow as her mouth lifted in a tired, half-smile, "At least we now know exactly what Mycroft does while he's supposedly 'working,'" she lifted her index fingers up and made the quotation marks as she said the last word, throwing Mycroft a smirk as Sherlock actually gave a small laugh. Mycroft fixed her with a sour look, which she obviously ignored as she closed her eyes briefly, "But, in all seriousness, Mycroft, we didn't come here in this disgraceful state to just chat about something we could have easily have Googled ourselves. AGRA is an acronym, which you're supposed to perhaps recognise," she looked at him pointedly at that.

"Oh, good," his eyes actually eyes lit up and his smile returned, making Amelia in her current sleepy, still slightly drug impaired state, want to punch him, "I love an acronym. All the best secret societies have them".

"Team of agents, the best," Sherlock continued flatly, when Mycroft's tone took on a slightly sarcastic edge, "But you know all that".

"Of course I do. Go on".

He sighed slightly, while Amelia clasped her hands firmly together in her lap, hopefully to avoid accidently punching Mycroft and his smug face right now, "One of them, Ajay," he explained, fixing his brother with a steady look, "Is looking for Mary, also one of the team".

"Indeed?" he eyed him carefully for a moment, frowning very faintly, "Well, that's news to me?"

"You're seriously going to plead ignorant right now, Mycroft?" Amelia stared at him with a narrowed glare, her tone sharp and cool. Mycroft merely lifted his eyebrows and lowered his head slightly, giving her a tight lipped smile, as if to say that she could think all she wished, for what he cared. Her gaze grew harder and she sat up straighter in her chair, "We're speaking of a trained professional here who has already committed murder in order to try and get his hands on the memory stick that could cause untold damage to Mary and John's lives if released. Now…" she paused, drawing in a deep, calming breathe, trying to reign in some of her anger and frustration, driven by worry for her friends and fatigue, "We know for a fact that AGRA were practically hired guns, loyal only to the highest bidder at the moment, so is there any chance that you might have been one of them?"

Mycroft frowned deeply this time, regarding her with a mildly startled expression, "Me?" he asked, almost in surprise as he twirled the pen between his fingertips again.

Sherlock shook her head, almost rolling his eyes impatiently, "Well, the British government or whatever government you're currently propping up," he sighed.

"AGRA were very reliable, then came the Tbilisi incident," he told them as they listened intently to every word, "They were sent in to free the hostages but it all went horribly wrong. And that was that," he shook his head lightly, "We stopped using freelancers".

"Your initiative?" he lifted an eyebrow.

"My initiative," he nodded, narrowing his eyes slightly as his tone grew harder, "Freelancers are too woolly, too messy. I don't like loose ends…" he gave a very brief, sharp smile, "Not on my watch".

Sherlock didn't seem to pay his brother's almost threatening words much mind, instead he sat forward and reached across Mycroft's desk to grab a notepad and pen sitting on it towards himself, leaning it on top of his knee as he flipped it open to scribble something on the first page. Mycroft eyed him curiously, while Amelia made little effort to even peer over Sherlock's arm to see what he was writing, knowing already what it would be. Quite frankly, she just wanted to get home and shower and perhaps sleep before John discovered that Mary had disappeared, which would no doubt be at some point in the coming hours, once the sun was actually up. She would like to be a little refreshed before having to try and console him.

"There was something else," Sherlock said as he scribbled away, "A detail, a code word…" he finished writing and threw the notepad back down on the desk before Mycroft, for him to see for himself what he had written, dropping the pen beside it.

Mycroft looked down at it and frowned again, "'AMMO?'" he read aloud, obviously puzzled as he glanced back across to the detectives.

"Not a great clue, I'll admit," Amelia sighed, and he lifted his eyebrows at her, "But it's the best we have to work with here, Mycroft".

"I see," he remarked with a look that clearly said that he didn't think much of it.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, before sighing heavily, his expression growing resigned, "Could you do some digging, as a favour?" he asked in a forced pleasant tone.

He smiled at that, though it wasn't a very nice smile, even for Mycroft, regarding his little brother with cool eyes, "You don't have many favours left," he reminded him pointedly, his eyes flickering over to Amelia, "Neither of you do, in fact".

"When have I ever asked for a favour from you?" Amelia blinked slightly, giving him a confused look, before throwing Sherlock a quick look, too.

"I seem to recall a time," he began in a mock thoughtful tone, staring back at her with a thin smile, "Not so long ago, when I aided in preventing your death and in assuring that you were provided with an entirely brand new life, including documentation, housing, and even a profession over the course of two years, all without receiving or asking for anything in return".

"Oh…" she grimaced slightly, wincing under his cool gaze, "Yes, that…I did thank you for that, didn't I?"

"Amelia is family, Mycroft," Sherlock cut in, eyeing his brother with a sharp look, his tone taking on a hard, almost warning edge. Amelia's eyes widened slightly and her head snapped around to gap at him in shock at how easily he had just admitted that he viewed her as family, while even Mycroft seemed slightly thrown, turning his gaze onto Sherlock with a vaguely startled expression. Sherlock ignored their reactions, however, glaring back at Mycroft, "She isn't required to give you anything in return for your aid".

"She wasn't considered family when we made that deal," Mycroft pointed out with a slight sniff, saying the word 'Family,' as though it was something disgusting, even pulling a slight face.

"Well, she is now, and if you wish to push the matter, you're more than welcome to try. I'm sure our mother would have a great deal to say on the subject".

Mycroft actually paused at that, and the unmistakable threat in Sherlock's voice as he looked sternly back at him, his eyes slightly narrowed with challenge and his lips pressed into a hard line. Amelia's heart was pounding in her chest and she still felt rather shocked by what had just happened, her mind seemingly struggling to come to teams with what had just happened…sure, she and Sherlock had been together for almost two years now, twenty two months, to be more accurate, but she hadn't ever actually heard or seen Sherlock speak about her like this, actually coming out and stating to someone that he considered her to be family and, in turn, loved her. That was…a pretty massive step for him, especially for him to be saying it to Mycroft, of all people. But, even though it made her feel like a giddy, school girl all over again, they did kind of have other matters to be dealing with, more pressing matters.

"As fun as that conversation would be, I'm sure," Amelia cleared her throat, and instantly both Sherlock and Mycroft snapped their gaze onto her. She smiled faintly, looking between the two of them, lingering slightly longer on Sherlock, "This is about helping John and Mary, so let's just do that," she gave Mycroft a pointed look, "Enough of the superiority complex going on here, you could at least pretend to be somewhat helpful, Mycroft. What's the point of knowing someone who practically runs the British government if they can't give a few family favour discounts once and a while?" she threw in a brilliant, slightly mocking smile, knowing that it would really annoy Mycroft.

Mycroft returned her smile with a cool, unimpressed look of his own, while Sherlock didn't even bother to conceal his amused smirk, "If you can find who's after her and neutralise them, what then?" he lifted an eyebrow dubiously, regarding them both with a slight frown, "You think you can go on saving her forever?"

"Of course," Sherlock replied instantly, while Amelia nodded firmly in agreement.

He fixed his brother with a steady, knowing look, "Is that sentiment talking?"

"No. It's me".

Mycroft's expression didn't waver in the slightest, "Difficult to tell these days," he remarked, switching his gaze pointedly on Amelia, who rolled her eyes, while Sherlock scoffed at the obvious implication.

"We're dating, Mycroft," Amelia said with a tired, slightly exasperated expression, "I didn't turn your baby brother to the dark side or into a fan of the Kardashian's…"

"Not for a lack of trying, however," Sherlock cut in lightly, earning a sharp look from her.

"I'm not a fan of the Kardashan's, Holmes; I just find the show relaxing. It's a terrible, terrible flaw, I know, but my point still stands…" she looked back to Mycroft, fixing him with another exasperated look, ignoring the smirk Sherlock wasn't even bothering to try and conceal, "Get over it already, Mycroft. We're not eight, there's nothing 'icky' about two consenting, otherwise unengaged adults to date one another".

"I'll have to take your word on it, Miss Wilson," Mycroft said with a pleasant, polite smile that always somehow ended up looking condescending.

Amelia narrowed her eyes dangerously on him and went to open her mouth, not caring if she was perhaps being a little petty and ought to just let it go, like usual, but she was tired and upset and she really just couldn't deal with Mycoft's cheerful attitude right now, when Sherlock, almost tactfully, interrupted.

"I told you, Mycroft," he said firmly, his expression stern as he drew his brother's attention across to him, "I made a promise, a vow, to John and Mary".

"All right," Mycroft instantly swung his legs down off his desk, sitting up straight in his chair with a slight grimace, "I'll see what I can do. But remember this, brother mine…" he fixed Sherlock with a grim look and leaned towards him over the desk, clasping his hands together beneath his chin, "Agents like Mary tend not to reach retirement. They get retired in a pretty permanent sort of way".

"Not this time," Amelia shook her head firmly, her tone determined and her gaze hardening. She uncrossed her legs and rose from her chair, glaring down at Mycroft, "Not Mary".

Sherlock stood from his own chair, not taking his own sharp gaze off his brother, "Not on our watch," he agreed, speaking perfectly calmly, but with no less determination.

He offered his elbow towards Amelia without dropping his gaze and Amelia curled her own arm around his, before they turned and left the office without another word, feeling Mycroft's dubious, almost pitting gaze on their backs the entire way. But he could think what he wished, he could doubt their ability to save Mary and keep her safe from whatever threat might come for her, but neither Sherlock, nor Amelia doubted in it.

Sentiment, indeed.

….

Amelia found her heart breaking for what must have been the sixth time in just the past several hours, running her eyes down the handwritten letter that Mary had left behind for John to find in their kitchen. Some words had been crossed out and the writing itself was slightly messy, hastily written, obviously, but the words and sentiment behind each one held such deep meaning and emotion that it almost made her want to cry, just for John's sake, reading the letter again for what must have been the third time since John had practically shoved it at her since stepping into his kitchen:

My darling, I need to tell you this because you mustn't hate me for going away. I gave myself permission to have an ordinary life. I'm not running, I promise you that, I just need to do this on my own. But I don't want you or Amelia and Sherlock hanging off my gun arm. I'm sorry, my love. I know you'll try to find me, but there is no point. Every move is random and not even Sherlock Holmes or Amelia Wilson combined can anticipate the roll of a dice. I need to move the target far, far away from you and Rosie, and then I'll come back, my darling. I swear I will…

The last part had been underlined several times, Mary's obvious attempt to try and reassure John that she truly meant what she had written. It was a sweet gesture on her part, Amelia could sympathise entirely with it, but it also wasn't completely the same as Mary choosing to remain behind to be with her family. Personally, as much as it pained her to admit it and she most assuredly wouldn't say it to John's face when it was still too fresh, she agreed with what Mary was doing. Hell, if it was her and she had the ability or means to escape at the drop of a hat like Mary did and someone was coming after her personally, Amelia would do it too, especially if it meant keeping her friends and family safe. Who wouldn't?

"She seems pretty sure you won't be able to find her," John said in an oddly soft, calm tone, standing with his arms crossed over his chest before his own kitchen table.

Amelia sighed and nodded in silent agreement with that, her eyes flickering over to where Sherlock was sitting by Rosie's highchair, feeding her mouthfuls of boiled egg, most of which currently littering her highchair table and mouth. Sherlock still looked a little odd feeding the eight month old baby, especially considering that he was still wearing his large coat and scarf wrapped around his neck, the slight darkening of bruising beneath his eyes the only indication to the fact that they had barely managed to catch an hour's worth of sleep before receiving John's urgent phone call. Well, sleep might be putting it lightly, more like they both ended up accidently falling asleep on the sofa while pouring over maps of different, possible locations that Mary might have first jetted off to. Amelia, for one, knew that she looked dreadful without any makeup on, sleep deprived, and still slightly damp hair at her roots from the rushed shower she had thrown herself in upon arriving back at the flat from Mycroft's office. She felt pretty off her usual self, too.

"Using a dice to plot her course," Sherlock murmured, his gaze growing distant, though he cut a slightly less impressive figure then usual with one hand currently holding a bright, neon pink plastic spoon, "Neat," his mouth lifted slightly, almost seeming caught between being impressed and amused.

Amelia gave her a slightly fearful look, her eyes darting worriedly over to John, who had instantly stiffened and turned cold, blank eyes onto his ex-flatmate. She recognised that steely look coming over John's eyes and it always meant that trouble, real, proper trouble was coming their way, because it wasn't so much John's shouting that was the scary thing…it was when he grew quiet and calm that meant that hell truly was about to rain down upon them.

"Sherlock," she cleared her throat, carefully placing the letter back on the table and shifting in her chair, just in case she needed to hastily stand, should John attempt to suddenly throw himself across the table or something. She gave him a very pointed, warning look, "Perhaps right now isn't the best time to be commenting on how…clever Mary's ability to avoid us tracking her is, you know, for your own personal safety," she glanced sideways towards John, still glaring very steadily back at the curly haired man.

Sherlock stared at her blankly, his gaze shifting to John and back to her again, "Amelia, don't be absurd," he scoffed, "Why should I be concerned about my safety?"

"Maybe because you say one more word, Sherlock," John said in a very tight, controlled voice, clenching his fists by his side, "Just one, and I'll knock your head off. I swear…"

"Okay!" Amelia quickly rose from her chair, raising her voice sharply to cut off the rest of his threat, while Sherlock actually blinked in confusion at John, "Let's just remember that we're all friends here and that Rosie really doesn't need to be exposed to any violence, right?" she fixed both men with a pointed look.

The mention of Rosie seemed to cause John to deflate slightly and some of the tension seemed to ease from his frame, his shoulders slumping, "Right," he sighed, and reached up to rub a hand down his face, "Right…you're right, Amelia".

"Yes, I am, as per usual," she smiled faintly, and he gave her a very small smile that quickly faded as he dropped his hand, suddenly looking very tired and much older then he truly was. She felt her heart soften with pity for him and she stepped around the table to pull him into a tight hug, which he returned, "It'll be alright, John," she murmured, squeezing him tighter, "We'll find her and bring her home to you and Rosie, I swear, and in the mean time we just have to trust that Mary knows what she's doing," she pulled back from him to give him a sympathetic, gentle look, "You don't become a super spy like her without leaning a thing or two, John".

"There's still a psychopath hunting her, while she's God knows where, doing God knows what, while I'm stuck here. I can't even try to help her".

"Of course you can help her," Sherlock said suddenly, and Amelia and John both looked back over to him curiously. He was dabbing lightly at Rosie's mouth with the edge of her floral bib, when he glanced up to find them eyeing him, and rolled his eyes, "You can help her, John, by taking care of Rosie and yourself".

"That's…actually what I was going to say," Amelia blinked slightly, giving him a strange look, as though she couldn't quite believe that it was him that was giving out the sentimental words of advice right now.

He fixed her with a look, "I do listen to you occasionally, Amelia," he told her.

John shook his head and sighed heavily again, "Yeah, well, that's great, Sherlock," he said with a deep, frustrated frown, pulling their attention back to him, "But being here doesn't help Mary, it doesn't keep her safe or help her stop this maniac from getting to her, and I'm just supposed to be okay with that?"

"I don't think anyone's 'Okay' with any of this, John," Amelia said softly, reaching out to grasp his upper arm in support, "And we will find her, we just…might need to be a tiny bit patient and…"

"Trust in Mary to look out for herself, yeah," he cut across her, his tone flat and his expression growing wary, "I know".

"We will find her," Sherlock repeated, more firmly this time, and picked up the small, circular plastic bowel that he had been spoon feeding Rosie from, now empty, apart from a few bits of chopped up egg. He rose smoothly from his chair to face them, looking both oddly domestic and his usual intermediating self as he met John's eyes, baby Rosie gargling contently from her chair, "Even the roll of a dice isn't impossible to deduce," he smirked very slightly and caught Amelia's eye, who smiled back at him.

John looked between them before narrowing his eyes suspiciously, "Why are you smiling like that?" he asked carefully, "And how can you be so confident? Even you two can't deduce chance, Sherlock".

"Can't we?" he looked back to him, still smirking, his eyes lightening.

He narrowed his eyes even more, "Can't we?" he questioned, even more suspiciously.

"Oh, John," Amelia laughed, lightly patting his arm, while Sherlock simply smiled widely back at him. John frowned, looking utterly confused and very suspicious, "When will you learn to never underestimate us….we are the best at what we do for a reason".

John continued to look between them for a moment, before sighing and rolling his eyes upwards, seemingly giving up. Amelia merely grinned and barely resisting the urge to ruffle his hair, before turning on her heel to cross the room to pickup Rosie from her highchair. He'd find out…in due time.

….

Morocco was a beautiful place; Amelia found that she just adored the stunning, brilliant displays of colours and different patterns that her eyes were allowed to feast on upon first making her way through the narrow streets of the marketplace they found themselves walking through, a month after Mary had seemingly vanished from the face of the planet. Seemingly, being the key word, of course, because as much as Mary had done a wonderful job at covering up her tracks from them, it simply hadn't been good enough and they had tracked her from the moment that she had flown out of England, landing in Europe, travelling from country to country under false ID and new appearances. It had all led them to Morocco in the end, Sherlock and Amelia deducing less than a day ago that it would be Mary's next stop and that it was about time that they finally caught up to her, they had allowed her to think that she had gotten away from them long enough…plus, John was beginning to grow very inpatient to see his wife again, naturally so.

Amelia just wished that they could have come to the country for something a little more fun than this business, she was positively dying to get a chance to explore more of the market and to perhaps fill a suitcase full of the silks that she had spied during their short journey to the Hotel Cecil that they had determined would be most likely the best place that Mary would first go to. It was a quiet place, close in the middle of the bustle of the city and run by a small, local family who had kept the hotel largely the way it had likely been for the past century, there wasn't even an air conditioner, which had been a very big disappointment to Amelia, but at least there was a large fan above the bed that moved some air around, though she had to admit that she hadn't gotten much sleep during the night for the heat and having Sherlock lying beside her, emitting body heat himself, hadn't exactly helped, either.

Still, the hotel was very lovely to look at, the walls covered in traditional clay plaster that had been painted a deep, rust orange and the windows around the room were covered by wooden window panels that emitted streams of sunlight through small, dotted patterns cut into the wood, the distant sound of the street drifting up to them. A small living room area was set up in the middle of the room with very comfortable cushions placed on the floor around a wooden table, while a comfortable bed sat at the end of the room, facing the space. Beyond the living room space, an arched mirror covered by a blue, silk curtain stood facing the room. For a place that was typically used as a bolthole for Mary, back in the day, it was very nicely decorated, but for as nice as it all was for the short time that they had stayed there, Amelia doubted if they would remain for the coming evening, though she had yet to inform young Karim, the hotel owners teenage son, that.

The boy had taken to them; he had even managed to convince Sherlock to play several rounds of 'Happy Families' with him, something John and Amelia had immediately opted out of. John, mainly due to his inability to concentrate on anything under the stress of waiting for his missing wife to finally turn up. Amelia, on the other hand, had decided not to play due to her concern of ending up wanting to kill Sherlock as the game progresses, something that tended to happen whenever they played card or board games together. Instead, Amelia chose to sit cross legged on one of the pillows at the end of the table, holding her slightly battered copy of George R.R Martin's A Feast of Crows between her hands, halfway through the thick volume after the plane ride and long, sleepless night.

She reached up to absently toy with her left, golden bee stud earring as her eyes ran down the pages of the book, paying Sherlock and Karim's current game little attention. The cotton, loose fitting red trousers she wore and the light, navy blue, red, and gold diamond patterned blouse with a black silk ribbon around the collar helped her feel cooler during the day then she had in the night, her hair swept up off her neck in two buns, one slightly smaller than the other and resting on top of one another. Her high heeled, red Guccie loafers sat next her matching handbag, which had a blue and red silk scarf hanging out of the top of the bag, just in case she should feel the need to cover her hair, out of respect for the locals. She had, perhaps, dressed a little expensive for the area of the city that they had chosen to stay in, but when wasn't she overdressed? Sherlock had rolled his eyes at seeing her outfit that morning and in response she had flicked her scarf at his face, though his gaze had lingered with a note of approval on her bee shaped studs. He was very fond of bees.

"Not like this, my friend," Karim was grinning across the table at Sherlock, his youthful face screwed up with challenge, while Sherlock frowned at the cards clasped between his hands. Amelia glanced up from her page and shook her head lightly, returning her gaze to her book, red lips lifted in amusement, "You haven't got a chance, not a chance…" he narrowed his dark brown gaze on Sherlock, who peered back at him with a cool, unruffled glare of his own, his sleeves of his dark blue shirt rolled up the only indication to him being affected by the heat, "I've got you where I want you," he continued, "Give in! Give in! I will destroy you. You're completely at my mercy".

Amelia's eyebrows rose and she brought her gaze up from her page, "Goodness," she smirked at Karim, who truly had grown very passionate as the games went on, "You sound not so completely dissimilar to a character out of my book," she frowned, then, glancing warily back down at her book, "Which is kind of terrifying, considering…"

"He sounds like you the last time you got behind the wheel, Amelia," Sherlock commented lightly, shooting her an almost teasing grin when she turned her narrowed eyed glare on him.

"Shut up, Holmes. You know I hate traffic and that bus driver was trying to run us off the road, you know he was!"

He merely shrugged innocently, as though he couldn't very clearly remember their trip to Wale's that Amelia had insisted driving them on for a case a few months back, having very excitedly rented a Mercedes Benz just for the trip, even though it would have been more practical to just borrow John and Mary's car for the few days that they would be away. Amelia didn't tend to do practical, though.

"Whatever you say, Amelia," he said with an infuriating smirk, and Amelia's fingers twitched towards her scarf again, though she had the intention of wrapping it around his neck and strangling him with it this time around. He turned his gaze back onto Karim and smiled triumphantly, "I wouldn't be so confident, Karim, I've got Mr Baker," he lifted his chin proudly, "Well, that completes the set".

Karim instantly frowned, confusion filling his features, while Amelia glanced sideways at Sherlock, "No, it does not," he said firmly, giving a slightly bemused laugh.

He blinked, startled, "Well, who else am I missing?" he questioned, truly seeming puzzled, just as Mary finally rounded the corner and slowly stepped into the room, staring in utter astonishment of them. She was even dressed in loose fitting clothing, wide legged, brown trousers and a flowing white and blue stripped shirt, while a brown bag was slung across her body and a thin, cream coloured scarf covered her head. She was also wearing a black, bobbed wig. Neither detectives, nor Karim so much as glanced at her.

"Master bun," Karim replied, and pointed to the cards lying out across the table between them, while Amelia nodded slowly with a slightly curious glance at Sherlock, "It's not a set without him. How many more times, Mr Sherlock?"

He hummed in exasperation briefly, casting his eyes briefly over the cards, "Maybe it's because I'm not familiar with the concept," he said with another small shrug, and finally glanced casually up to where Mary was positively gaping at them in disbelief, "Oh, hi, Mary".

"Hello, Mary," Amelia smiled up to her, giving her a little finger wiggle of a wave, earning herself a stunned look from the poor woman, "You're looking well, I love that scarf. Is that silk and cotton? I might have to borrow that from you sometime…"

Karim only gave Mary a very swift glance, before turning his confused frown back on Sherlock, "What concept?" he asked.

"Happy families," he said, almost as casually, and looked back up to Mary, "Nice trip?"

Mary shook her head slowly, grasping a loaded pistol by her side, "How the f…."

"Please, Mary," he cut across her with a mock stern look, "There is a child present," he gestured across the table to Karim.

"You know we're in trouble when Sherlock's the one reminding us to behave," Amelia commented with a grin, laughing slightly at Sherlock gave her a small flash of a smile and a tiny wink that anyone else might have missed, but she was quite used to his brief flashes of emotion.

Mary sighed and nodded in agreement, giving Sherlock an odd look, before shaking her head again, "How did you get in here?" she demanded.

"Our friend let us in," Amelia nodded to Karim, giving the teen a small smile and looking back up to Mary, "He's been keeping Sherlock helpfully entertained during our wait".

Karim looked up to Mary and smiled brightly, "Hello," he waved, and Mary sighed slightly and nodded to him in greeting, reaching up to slip her headscarf off.

"Karim," Sherlock looked across to the boy, "Would you be so kind as to fetch us some tea?"

"Sure," he said, and immediately shifted to uncross his legs from beneath him.

"Thank you so much, Karim," Amelia smiled, giving him a kind look, "And please remember to bring milk and sugar, that would be wonderful".

"Yes, Miss Amelia," he rose from the pillow and paused briefly to nod to Mary, "Nice to meet you missus," he turned and walked passed Mary, who watched him go with a still slightly puzzled frown.

She looked off into the distance briefly, seemingly trying to process exactly what was happening, before she shook her head sharply and switched her gaze back onto Amelia and Sherlock, giving them a slightly strained smile upon finding them looking at her in polite interest, "No, I…I...I mean how did you find me?" she questioned again, moving to stand across the table from Sherlock, still seeming completely baffled.

Sherlock eyed her in confusion, before glancing at Amelia, who lifted an eyebrow, "I'm Sherlock Holmes," he said lightly, as though it ought to explain everything.

"Humble as ever, Holmes," Amelia shook her head, though her expression was fond.

"No, really, though, how?" she asked more firmly, narrowing her eyes on them, "Every movement I made was entirely random, every new personality just on the roll of a dice!"

"Surely you know that isn't completely true," the brunet smirked up at her, her tone laced with amusement as Mary's head snapped to her, her eyes widening, "I mean, human nature is always going to be ones greatest weakness, sentiment, no matter how hard we might try, tends to always have a role to play in whatever role we may assume, and when one understands the psychology of the human mind it becomes all the more apparent".

"Not to mention the science of chance," Sherlock added, suddenly looking almost bored, while Mary looked back to him sharply, her lips parted in disbelief, "An advanced grasp of mathematics of probability mapped onto a thorough apprehension of human psychology and the known disposition of any individual can reduce the number of variables considerably," Mary was positively gaping at him at him in confusion, listening to him babble away, while Amelia frowned faintly at him, "I myself know of at least fifty eight techniques to refine this seemingly infinite array of randomly generated possibilities down to the smallest number of feasible variables".

Mary nodded slowly, while Amelia simply shook her head lightly and struggled to roll her eyes, "However…" she cleared her throat, pulling Mary's gaze back onto her, while Sherlock took a breath, "As breathtaking complicated and ridiculously conceited as that all sounds…there are far more simpler means of tracking people, one of which is slipping a tracking device onto the one object that your target would never part with," she flashed her a suddenly bright, knowing smile as Mary froze, "Say…the memory stick"

For a long moment she simply stared at them in silence, before Sherlock and Amelia cracked up laughing. Mary slowly blinked as realisation crossed her features and she released a small, breath of a laugh.

"Oh, you bastards!" she breathed, shaking her head as they continued giggling, Amelia hugging her middle through laughter, "You bastards!"

"Oh, that was priceless!" Amelia grinned, reaching up to delicately wipe beneath her eyes, her cheeks flushed from giggles, "The look on your face, pretending as if you actually understood a word that Sherlock was sprouting…"

"You mean like 'The Mathematics of probability?'"

"You believed that," Sherlock waved her off, smiling proudly.

She laughed and threw her hands up in the air, "'Feasible variables?'"

"Yes. I started to run out about then".

Mary shook her head and reached up to clutch either side of her head, screwing up her face in frustration, "In the memory stick!" she groaned, opening her eyes to throw Amelia a pointed look.

"Yeah," John's voice floated through the room, "That was my idea".

She turned sharply at the sound of his voice, her smile freezing in place of the sight of John standing within the curved entrance of the bedroom behind her, looking back at her with a blank expression. Amelia felt her heart grow heavy, looking grimly between the once so happy couple. How had it all gone so wrong?

…

Evening fell and Amelia had to admit, she was starting to fear that the couple would never speak to one another, she had even managed to drag Sherlock out of the room for an hour for a quick, early dinner, only to return to find John and Mary refusing to say one word, the tension thick and heavy in the silence of the room, just the distance noise of the local mosque ringing through the dimming light of the room. Amelia and Sherlock slipped into the room, neither making any comment on the lack of progress…it wasn't there place, they had brought the pair together, but they couldn't force them to speak, so instead they had carefully taken seats by each other at the end of the room, hidden partly in shadows, Amelia sitting her handbag down on the floor by her feet. A few more minutes went by before finally, the silence was broken.

"AGRA," John said, peering intently up at Mary from his position perched on the edge of the small table, while Mary stood before him, her hands nervously clasped down her front, holding her wig.

"Yes," Mary nodded, watching him with barely concealed anxiety.

"Mm-hm," he hummed, his voice gentle, almost soft, "You said it was your initials".

She hesitated, biting her bottom lip nervously, "In a way, that was true".

"In a way?" he eyed her, before shaking his head very slightly and looking away from her, "So many lies".

Amelia dropped her gaze to the top of her crossed legs, following the pressed line of her trousers, feeling her heart drop at the disappointment and sadness in just those words. It truly pained her so much to see them like this, having fallen so far from the people they had been on their wedding day, blissfully happy and excited for the future. Life truly could turn so quickly. Beside her, Sherlock's hand came to suddenly cover her own resting on her knees, his long fingers gently entwining with her own, almost as if he could hear her thoughts.

"I'm so sorry," Mary murmured, looking back at him with a pained expression.

He slowly looked back up to her, "I don't just mean you".

She frowned, confused, "What?"

"Alex, Gabriel, Ajay…" he began to list, peering intently up at her, "You're 'R,'" he paused, and Mary nodded in confirmation, "Rosamund".

Amelia barely held back her gasp, closing her eyes. Of course, it made sense…Mary had been so insisted that she wanted Rosie to be called Rosamund, even John had seemed surprised by her determination.

"Rosamund Mary," Mary replied after a brief pause, her lips twisting into a small, sad smile as he nodded slowly, "I always liked 'Mary'".

John smiled, "Yeah, me too," he agreed, before his smile fall and he looked away from her again. Amelia swallowed, hard, against the urge to want to say something, "I used to," he corrected himself, before standing without glancing at her and walking a few steps away from her.

Mary watched his back, her expression twisting briefly into a pained grimace, guilt and shame flashing passed her eyes, "I ju…I didn't know what else to do," she told him, shaking her head.

"You could have stayed," he turned back around to face her, stepping closer towards her, his expression full of wryness, "You could have talked to me," his tone grew sharper, more angry, "That's what couples are supposed to do: work things through".

She dropped her gaze onto the floor and lifted her shoulder in a small, almost helpless shrug, "Yes," she sighed, looking utterly dejected, "Yes, of course".

"Mary, I may not be a very good man, but I think I'm a bit better than you give me credit for, most of the time…"

"All the time," she interrupted quickly, frowning deeply. She gave him a look of such certainty that it made Amelia want to sigh and shake her head sadly, "You're always a good man, John," she continued firmly, though her voice was full of sadness, "I've never doubted that. You never judge, you never complain. I don't deserve you. I…" she broke off with a shake her head and dropped her gaze onto the floor. He frowned faintly, giving her a questioning look, and after a brief pause she went on softly, "All I ever wanted to do was keep you and Rosie safe, that's all".

John stared at her for a long moment, before reaching out and covering her grasped hands still clasped down her front, squeezing her hand as he looked back up into her face. It wasn't a complete sign of forgiveness, but it was a step towards it and a signal that any anger that John may have been feeling had been eased. It was more like a gesture of support and comfort, of reassurance that she wasn't alone, and Mary's eyes widened just a tiny fraction with relief, meeting his steady gaze. Amelia felt the air of the room shift, the tension not completely fading, but it seemed to grow warmer and more relaxed then it had since Mary and John first crossed paths again. It made her take a small breath and release it again, slowly, but she still felt a heavy weight pressing down against her chest, a weight that she knew would remain until John had his chance to speak his truth. But now wasn't the time for that.

"I will keep you safe," Sherlock spoke suddenly, his head lowered and his hand still covering Amelia's. John immediately withdrew his hand from Mary, glancing back behind him, almost as though he had forgotten that they were even there, "But it has to be in London," he went on, slightly more firmly, and rose from his chair, dropping his hand from Amelia to meet Mary's gaze, "It's my city, I know the turf".

Mary eyed him briefly, before looking back to John, almost as if she was seeking his reassurance that it was okay for her to return. John gazed at her for a moment before looking away, not saying a word.

"Please, Mary," Amelia tried, uncrossing her legs to stand from her own chair, looking gently at her from across the room. Mary met her gaze, her own fears plain to see, "Please, just come home, Mary, London is where you belong with your daughter," she gave her a pleading look as her expression shifted at the mention of Rosie, a flicker of longing, "You're her mother, she needs you and I can't imagine that you don't miss her like crazy…"

"I do," Mary breathed, swallowing, hard, "I do miss her".

"Then come back with us, let us help protect you and your family, and we will, I promise, Mary. We'll figure this thing out together".

Mary slowly began to smile, glancing back towards John, who still hadn't moved an inch. But Amelia knew that she had done it, she could see the look of hope and happiness in Mary's eyes at the thought of being able to go home again, to be with her family…it made Amelia grin widely in return, her heart lightening and it felt as though they had just made a massive step towards normality again…

"Get down!" Sherlock suddenly shouted.

Amelia felt a large, familiar hand suddenly shove her down in the next second and she barely had enough time to finally process what was happening before she was collapsing onto the floor with a thud that was going to leave bruises on her knees later, automatically curling in on herself with her arms wrapping around her head, just as two gunshots rang out throughout the air. The next second she knew was Sherlock was flipping the coffee table up onto its side in front her, so that it became something of a shield, while John came crawling around the corner of the table beside her, looking almost as shocked by the sudden change in air as Amelia felt.

More gunfire rang out and she flinched, her heart pounding as she dared to lift her head enough to see what was going on in the rest of the room. Mary had retrieved her gun from her bag and had it raised before her, at the ready, just before Ajay came barrelling through the bullet riddled door, having kicked it open easily. Mary fired at him several times and he immediately ducked sideways behind a wall, while Mary flattened herself against the same wall, on the other side, partly concealed behind a cabinet. Sherlock knelt on the floor on the other side of the same cabinet, half pressed against the wall and a second, slightly taller bureau, while Amelia and John kept themselves ducked behind the upturned table, both breathing heavily, side-by-side.

"Hello again," Ajay said from just out of sight of the room, but the slightly manic edge that Amelia had noticed during their first meeting was still lacing his words.

"Ajay?" Mary asked, still seeming quite amazed by the return of her old friend, her gun held poised in her hand, finger on the trigger, up by her head.

"Oh, you remember me?" his sneer was plain to hear, "I'm touched".

"Look, I thought you were dead, believe me, I did".

"I've been looking forward to this for longer than you can imagine".

Amelia swallowed, hard, reaching out to find John's hand on the floor between them, just so that she could try and stop her own mind from spinning into a whirlwind of panicked thoughts. Not for her own safety, but for the safety of her friends, acutely aware of just how grave this situation was. She felt slightly ill, hearing the almost hungry longing in Ajay's words at the thought of killing Mary, he really meant it when he said that he had imagined this for a long time, and she dreaded to think just what those fantasises had included.

"I swear to you, I thought you were dead," Mary said with an almost pained grimace, "I thought I was the only one who got out".

Ajay seemed to take offense at her words and suddenly ducked a step out of his hiding spot, still obscured from Sherlock and Mary, and fired directly at the upturned table. Amelia flinched and ducked closer to the floor, just as the bullet ripped through the corner of the table, just a few inches away from John's head. John managed to keep perfectly calm on the outside, but she could feel his pulse thudding through his skin from where her fingers curled tightly around his wrist. She lifted her head, just a tiny bit, in time to see Mary handing her gun over to Sherlock.

"How did you find us?" Sherlock called loudly, and Amelia realised that he was asking out of an attempt to cover any sound that they might have made. Clever.

"By following you, Sherlock Holmes and Amelia Wilson, who I'm guessing is somewhere around here…" Amelia kept silent, her eyes flickering over to see Sherlock shooting her a quick glance, his lips pressed into a thin line and concern flashing through his eyes, before he smothered the emotion. She gave him a reassuring nod, "I mean, you're clever…you found her…but I found you, so perhaps not so clever. And now here we are, at last".

Sherlock suddenly straightened from his slightly crouched position against the wall and raised the gun up towards the light dangling from the ceiling in the middle of the room, shooting at it. It exploded in a flash of light and glass that shattered all over the place, before he swung around to aim directly where Ajay had been standing. He hastily ducked back out of sight again, around the edge of the wall, and Amelia's breath finally escaped her throat in relief that he hadn't simply turned the gun on Sherlock.

Ajay laughed a small, breathy laugh, "Touché".

"Listen," John called, and Amelia looked at him sharply, "Whatever you think you know, we can talk about this. We can work it out".

Amelia sighed and shook her head, knowing that for all of his good intentions, it wasn't going to work. There was no discussing this matter with a man like Ajay, he was beyond words or listening to reason or explanations, he was after blood. But still…it might be worth a try, if anything it could buy them a tiny bit of time to possibly escape or learn more, but still, she held out little hope of anything other than violence coming out of this situation.

"She thought I was dead," he replied, just barely visible through the tiny holes in the panel he was hiding behind, his voice soft, "I might as well have been".

"It doesn't have to be this way," Amelia tried, sighing heavily as she kept herself carefully crouched out of sight beneath the edge of the table, "Mary told us you used to be a family, isn't that right?"

"Oh, yeah".

"So why d'you want to kill me?" Mary asked, her shadowed face twisted with a small frown.

"D'you know how long they kept me prisoner, what they did to me?" he demanded in a low, almost emotionless voice. Amelia swallowed, the way he spoke was just so blunt, haunted, almost, "They tortured Alex to death," he paused and took a breath, his voice growing frighteningly quiet, "I can still hear the sound of his back breaking," Amelia lowered her head, cringing, "But you, you…where were you?" he demanded, suddenly angry again.

"That day at the embassy, I escaped," Mary explained, but her voice was hollow. It had shaken her, hearing about what had happened to one of her old teammates.

"Oh, yeah," he breathed bitterly.

"But I lost sight of you too, so you explain: where were you?"

"Oh, I got out…for a while," he said quietly, "Long enough to hide my memory stick. I didn't want that to fall into their hands," he sneered, then, "I was loyal, you see, loyal to my friends. But they took me, tortured me. Not for information," his voice grew barely a whisper, but they still heard it clearly, "Not for anything except fun…"

"God…" Amelia barely breathed, before pressing her lips together and closing her eyes in disgust, fearing that she might just been ill if she allowed herself to think of what he must have endured, how he was even alive was incredible. She couldn't even begin to imagine the horror and pain and damage that he been done to him. Beside her, John dropped his head and reached out to almost brace himself against her side, looking as though he was about to be physically ill himself. She could only wrap an arm around his hunched back.

"Oh, they thought I'd give in, die, but I didn't. I lived, and eventually they forgot about me just rotting in a cell somewhere. Six years they kept me there, until one day I saw my chance. Oh, and I…I made them pay. You know, all the time I was there, I just kept picking up things…little whispers, laughter, gossip: how the clever agents had been betrayed…"

John shifted slightly beside Amelia and she glanced at him, finding him eyeing something on the floor a little way away from their hiding spot. She followed his gaze to spy a duffle bag lying open on the floor just by the wall with a gun lying in it. It was out in the open, practically suicide for anyone to try and grab it right now, but Amelia could feel John's muscles tensing, practically sense his mind gambling the risks in his head right now. Slowly, she slipped her arm back from around him and he glanced at her, his face barely an inch from her own, and she gave him a warning look.

'Wait,' she mouthed to him, desperately afraid that he might just go running for the bag in his own panic to try and stop Ajay. His lips pressed into a hard line, but he nodded very slightly in agreement.

"…brought down by you," Ajay spat furiously, obvious directed towards Mary.

"Me?" Mary questioned tensely.

In the next second there was a loud whistle of a train whizzing past the tracks that ran just a short distance outside the hotel, and light briefly filled the room through snippets of gapes in the window panelling. In that moment the entire room seemed to burst into action, their temporary stand-off finally coming to an end as Sherlock immediately shoved the gun back into Mary's hands as she stepped away from the wall and began to hurry past him, while John made a low dash towards the gun in the bag on the floor. Amelia remained concealed by the table, though she peeked around the side of it, knowing that there was nothing she could possibly do in this moment, but she was rather shocked when Sherlock suddenly dropped onto his knees beside her, partly obscured by the table and threw an arm around her back, as if he was preparing to throw them both to the floor at a seconds notice. It all happened in such a rush, but in the next moment Mary was standing before Ajay with her gun raised at his head and Ajay was standing barely an arms width away from her, his own gun aimed at her head and with a furious, deranged look in his eyes. John rolled up from the floor and came to kneel on the floor by the bed, using the mattress to brace his elbows as he brought his gun up onto Ajay. Silence filled the room again, broken by one single gasp from Ajay upon finding himself staring directly into the steely eyes of Mary.

"You know I'll kill you too," Mary said calmly, both hands grasping the gun trained on him, steady and firm, not wavering in the slightest, "You know I will, Ajay".

Ajay breathed heavily for a moment, staring back at her with a wild look in his eyes, and Amelia realised with a sick sensation that she had seen it before…in the eyes of her brother, "What, you think I care if I die?" he said in a low, barely controlled hiss, and slowly he dropped one hand from his gun and edged closer to Mary, and Amelia felt Sherlock tensing beside her, "I've dreamed of killing you every night for six years…" he brought himself even closer, until his forehead was touching the end of her gun, his voice a whisper and full of savage fury, "…of squeezing the life out of your treacherous, lying throat".

"I swear to you, Ajay," Mary said in warning, her gun unwavering and her eyes fixed firmly on his as she lightly shook her head. She didn't want to do it, everyone within their right mind could see how much it pained her…but she would.

Amelia felt ice run down her spine, "Tell us about what you heard," she burst out, before she even realised what she was saying, before she thought it better to keep her mouth shut. She licked her lips and tasted salt from the sweat dotting her upper lip and her lipstick, her heart pounding as she could only look at the gun pointed at Mary. Beside her, Sherlock shifted uneasily, but she ignored it, "You said you heard whispers, gossip…tell us what you heard, Ajay," she went on, her voice growing steadier, harder, "Tell us exactly what you heard, word for word".

"What did I hear?" Ajay seemed to ask himself, opening his mouth, but he hesitated, struggling to form the words, before he managed to finally say it, almost breathing it, "Ammo," he stared back at Mary, not taking his eyes off hers, "Every day as they tore into me. Ammo. Ammo…" his voice began shaking and Amelia grimaced, seeing his entire body begin to tremble, "Ammo…" he inhaled a shaky gasp, "Ammo," his hold on his gun began to tremble, his last thread of control slipping and Mary tightened her grip on her gun, when he suddenly spat, "We were betrayed!"

"And they said it was her?" Sherlock questioned, his voice soft, still not moving from Amelia's side on the floor.

"You betrayed us!" he sneered furiously at Mary, his entire body shaking now.

"They said her name?" he demanded, more firmly.

"Yeah, they said it was the English woman!"

Suddenly, there was a bang of a gun going off and for one split second Amelia was horrified, realising that someone had finally fired…but then Ajay dropped, almost like a doll that had suddenly had his strings cut, revealing a Moroccan policeman standing within the doorway with his gun drawn, and Mary screamed.

"No!" her cry of anguish filled the air, "No!" she collapsed onto the floor beside her once most trusted friend and frantically began trying to shake him, trying to wake him.

Amelia reached up to cover her mouth with her hands, realising a second later that she was breathing heavily and that at some point Sherlock had leaped onto his feet, no longer sitting on the floor beside her. Slowly, she numbly dragged herself up, too, watching in almost a daze as John rushed to Mary's side and crouched by Ajay's head, pressing his finger against his neck where he laid twisted on the floor. Another loud crash sounded through the room and they all turned to find Karim standing in shock and horror in the doorway, the silver tea tray he had been carrying littering the floor at his feet. Amelia reached out and took Sherlock's hand, squeezing it.

….

Amelia sighed as she stepped back into the hotel room, finding Sherlock pacing the end of the room with his phone pressed to his ear, which had been cleared of the table and pillows. Ajay's body had also been removed and Mary had insisted upon dealing with the arrangements to have it returned to England for burial. John had gone with her, though Amelia could see that there was still something of a divide there between the couple, something she knew would only be cured by one thing. She paused by the edge of the wall, watching him silently as he looked up to see her. Without saying a word he hung up his call, his gaze still resting on her.

"The English woman was never a reference to Mary," she said with a heavy voice, "It was referring to someone else…Ammo".

"Yes," he nodded, still eyeing her, waiting.

She stepped further into the room, allowing her gaze to wonder around the space, but she wasn't looking at it, "All that time we thought it was a code name, short for 'ammunition,'" she shook her head, smiling almost sadly as she looked back over to him, "We never thought to consider that it was another language. Latin. For a dead language people do seem to enjoy using it".

"Do you know it?"

"I was a Catholic school girl, remember? I took Latin back in the day… 'I love,'" she gave him a look, "Otherwise known as Lady Smallwood, if my memory serves correctly from that little pardon ceremony we had".

"Mycroft's dealing with it as we speak," Sherlock told her lightly, and gave his phone a little wiggle.

Amelia eyed him grimly, "I hope we're right about this one, Sherlock," she said quietly, giving him a weak smile, "Otherwise Mycroft is going to have a lot of apologising to do and he's not very good at that".

"Funny," Sherlock gave her a small, humourless smile in return, "He said practically the same thing".

….

Sherlock sat beside her on the flight home taking the aisle seat so that he could have that tiny bit more leg room for his long legs, while Amelia had been happy to take the middle seat, her handbag sitting in the third seat beside her. She was reading her book again, while Sherlock spent much of the journey with his eyes closed, though he wasn't sleeping, merely reassessing their current situation, if she had to guess. John and Mary had taken up the row ahead of them, though the couple had chosen to sit with the middle seat left empty between them, barely speaking another word to one another the entire time. John spent most of it with his head bent towards the window. Amelia sighed as she lifted her gaze from her page, eyeing the sliver of his face that she could see through the slim gap between seats. It hurt her, seeing them so separated…made all the worse by the knowledge of why John was holding himself so distant to Mary, and it wasn't all to do with Mary's actions. It was John's guilt.

…..….…Two Weeks Ago…..….….

The smell of coffee in the air was like a delicious slap to the senses; Amelia loved it, inhaling deeply as she allowed the café door to close shut behind her and her eyes to roam the small, cute café. It was full of little tables, most filled with people enjoying their midmorning rush for coffee out with friends, while the workers bustled around in a rush to serve those waiting in line at the register for their takeaways cups up by the counter. She had chosen this place because she knew it was usually very busy, providing one anonymity, even while in public, with good coffee and just down the street from Baker Street, making it just about the perfect place for her to have this chat with John. She couldn't do it back at the flat with Sherlock there or with him likely to pop up at any moment, nor could she do it at John's place, not when it felt wrong have that discussion there, plus, it would give John a certain degree of protection. Public was better.

She spotted him almost at once, tucked into one of the back corners of the café, waving her over with a friendly, warm smile and tired eyes. She returned his smile and quickly began to pick her way around tables and chairs to reach him, dropping into the seat across from him, placing her black handbag on the spare chair squashed into the corner. John slide a large white cup towards her, giving her a knowing look as her eyes lit up in delight.

"I figured I'd order for us both," he told her, watching as she immediately grabbed the spoon sitting on the white saucer and began to scoop up the chocolate covered froth of the cappuccino, "It took me fives minutes in line just to get served".

"They make a good coffee here," she told him knowledgably, bringing the mouthful of froth up to her painted, red lips.

"Is that why we're meeting here, instead of the flat?"

Amelia hesitated at that and lowered the spoon, sticking it back into her cup. Attempting to buy herself a few more seconds, she picked up the two packets of sweetener sitting on the side of the saucer and began tearing the paper open, tipping the white contents into her drink, mixing it in with her spoon. He remembered how she liked taking sweetener in her tea or coffee, rather than sugar, most people would forget that. Molly still forgot it, but John remembered. She slowly brought her gaze back up to his, finding him frowning faintly at her, concern flashing through his light blue eyes.

"You and Sherlock aren't fighting, are you?" he asked worriedly, when he suddenly fixed her with a sharp look, "For real, this time, too, be honest with me, Amelia. I don't think I can stand having another person lie to me right now…"

"It's nothing like that," she reassured him, her eyes widening slightly in alarm at how stern his voice had grown, "Sherlock and I are going really well, John, I swear. I just…" she paused, sighing heavily and glanced back down at her coffee, giving it a small stir, though it truly didn't need it, "Well, I figured it would be better if we had this talk away from Baker Street, I didn't really want Sherlock overhearing and I thought you'd prefer it if we kept him in the dark about this…"

John was eyeing her closely now, "In the dark about what?" he cut across her, his tone growing slightly wary.

She took a breath and finally met his eyes, "I know about the affair," she said it bluntly, unapologetically so, before she gave herself the chance to chicken out and make up some excuse about wanting to surprise Sherlock or something.

She loved John like a brother, she treasured his friendship more then he knew and she would honestly do anything he asked, she considered him family, but that was also why she felt as though she had to say something to him when she had began to notice the signs. She knew it wasn't like him, he wasn't that sort of man to cheat on his wife, but somehow he had fallen into just that situation and she couldn't live with herself without saying something. However, she knew that she had to do it delicately, she couldn't involve Sherlock, nor anyone else, she had to keep it to herself. She owed John that much, just as she owed it to him and his family to confront him about it. She tried hard to keep her expression clear of emotion as she stared back at him, her gaze firm and steady, unrelenting, while John gaped at her. And then, slowly, his expression began to change and he laughed.

"I…I don't know what you're…"

"Please," she cut across him, perhaps a little more sharply than she meant, giving him a tired look, "Don't insult me by trying to lie to my face, John. We both know I'm smarter than that".

John's expression twisted with anger then, something she had been expecting, and his eyes narrowed and he reached out to wrap his hands tightly around his own cup, "You're out of line, Amelia," he ground out through gritted teeth, making an effort not to shout, she deduced as she simply stared back at him calmly. He was practically seething, "Unbelievable…you invite me here for coffee and then you accuse me of cheating on my wife, my wife that's being hunted by a lunatic right now and on the run…"

"Stop it, John," Amelia told him sharply, her voice as sharp as a razor and her eyes darkening with warning. She leaned closer towards him across the table as his lips parted in shock, his eyes widening as she glared fiercely back at him, "Don't try to manipulate me right now by trying to play the victim here," she hissed, her voice low and very cold, "That's below you, John Watson, you're better than that, so just stop it and own up to what we both know is true, because I am sick of pretending as though I can't see what's going on," she narrowed her eyes and slowly sat back in her chair, but she wasn't finished, "I'm sorry for the probably poor timing, I really am, I was planning to do this before Mary decided to go on the run, but it just didn't work out that way. So deal with it".

John swallowed and sunk back into his own chair, staring back at her, before he sniffed and dropped his gaze onto his cup, his expression almost crumbling under the weight of emotions. Guilt, shame, remorse…it was all there, Amelia felt her heart go out for him, seeing him practically drowning under it all, but she held her tongue for the moment, knowing that he would speak soon enough, once some of the shock had faded and he finally gave up the last shred of the pretence of the lie. That was where his reaction had come from, his attempt to throw her off by turning it back around onto her by making her feel guilty for accusing him of something as horrible as an affair while he was already dealing with the stress of his wife being missing and on the run. It was a basic defence mechanism. After a long pause, he inhaled a shaky breath and reached up to rub his face.

"It wasn't what you think it was," he said quietly, his shoulders slumped and his head hung, guilt practically dripping off him. Slowly, he lifted his head, but he didn't meet her eyes, "I mean…yes, I did cheat, but it wasn't anything physical. Just texting".

"An emotional affair," Amelia nodded, her own voice soft, almost gentle, and she resisted the urge to reach out and take his hand. She had to take on her professional detective face right now, if she was going to get through this, "I suspected as much," she went on, "There wasn't any indication it had gone further then perhaps a kiss".

"How did you know?"

"I told you once that I recognised a cheater when I saw one…and I saw it in you, not at first, but…slowly. The signs became more obvious, your sudden attachment to your phone was your biggest clue, John. You've never cared much about it, always been willing to let myself or even Sherlock borrow it, if need be, but the one instance that Mary asked to borrow it so that she could order takeout for dinner you became obviously uncomfortable and insisted on calling yourself. That, combined with the few other signs, was what gave it away".

John nodded slowly, looking utterly deflated, "I see," he murmured, before clearing his throat and shifting in his chair, "I ended it," he said, his voice growing stronger as he finally met her eyes again, firmly, "You don't have to worry about that, Amelia. It's over".

"But why did it begin in the first place?"

He hesitated, before sighing again and shaking his head helplessly, "I…don't know," he admitted quietly, looking up into her face with a miserable look, "I guess…it felt nice, feeling…"

"Desired," she finished, and he nodded again. She gave him an understanding look, "But it was more than just that, wasn't it? It was the attention of having another person see you and want to talk to you, someone you didn't have any reasonability towards, someone…free. There is a certain seduction to someone who is off limits".

"Yeah," he frowned slowly, his gaze fixed on her, and slowly his expression began to grow understanding. He sat up straight in his chair, "You said once that you'd personally been involved in cheating…"

Amelia swallowed, hard, but she refused to drop her gaze from his, she supposed it was only fair, "I did," she agreed.

"What did you mean, back then?"

She considered not saying a word, she truly did, and for one second she could actually feel herself starting to itch towards lunging for her bag and making a dash for the door, as though it was John who had called her here to question her about her greatest shame and secret, not the other way around. But then she took a steadying breath and met his warm, open eyes that watched her without judgment or scorn, but then again, why would he judge her? She had literally just exposed his cheating and laid it bare between them, he had no right to judge her for something that happened years ago now, so, perhaps, if there was anyone that she could speak to about this it was him. And maybe, just maybe, he deserved to hear it, given what she had forced him to reveal.

"I was nineteen when my dad died," she began, absently picking up one of the empty sweetener packets that she had left littering the table by her coffee, twisting it between her fingers, ripping at the edges, "He was my rock, John, my everything," she licked her lips and lowered her gaze to the table between them, "Losing him was devastating, suddenly I realised how utterly alone I was. All of my friends were just rich kids that I partied with because it was fun and expected of me, I had no other family who I could reach out to…I was alone and that, as you probably well know, it changes you. And then he came along…" her tone grew slightly bitter and she tore the packet in two, disregarding both halves onto the table to look up at him again, "He was in his mid-forties, handsome, sweet, married, and also my professor".

"Sounds like a great guy," John commented with a small frown, gripping the handle of his cup and bringing it up to his lips, taking a sip.

Amelia gave him a weak smile, "My taste in men has always been interesting," she said lightly, and he almost snorted into his coffee, no doubt thinking about just how interesting Sherlock was, "Anyway, he was one of those teachers that everyone loves, you know?" she went on with a small sigh, reaching up to run a hand through her hair, absently glad that she had kept it down for today, "So when he began paying me special attention I didn't think much on it, even when he would keep me back after all of his lectures just so that he could reassure me that he knew I was going through a tough time and that I could 'Talk to him whenever I wanted,'" she scoffed slightly, glancing up to see John shaking his head slowly, looking disturbed, "Then he started asking me to meet him in his office so he could discuss my assignments and try to help me keep up in class, I still thought little about it. He was nice to me, kind, gentle, he would let me cry and tell me such lovely words about how the grief would pass, I was so strong and brave…how such a beautiful girl like me would have the world at my feet".

"I bet he did," he grimaced, looking disgusted.

"He was very good at saying all the right things".

John shook his head slowly, "It's men like that make me terrified as a dad to a daughter".

"Rosie will always have someone to protect her, John," Amelia assured him, her voice firm and determined, her eyes meeting his steadily. She would protect that little girl, no matter what, because even though she wasn't her own blood, she might as well have been.

He smiled faintly, "Yeah, I know," his smile faded, though, and his eye grew sad, gazing back at her gently, "I'm sorry you didn't have that, Amelia, back then".

"It wasn't as if he forced himself onto me, John, I was quite willing throughout it all, even when his touch disgusted me, I still allowed it. I didn't shy from it. I wasn't an innocent".

"He was in a position of authority, Amelia, and he took advantage over the fact that he knew that you were in a fragile place. You can't be completely held responsible for it, either".

Amelia shrugged very slightly, a small gesture of neither agreement, nor denial of his words, because the truth was that she didn't entirely agree. Sure, he had taken advantage of her, but she hadn't just suddenly lost her mind completely when she allowed him to continue kissing or touching her, she had known it was wrong and had still gone along with it. She wasn't denying that, she owned the part she played, and she certainly didn't see herself as some sort of victim. It simply was what it was, which was wrong, on all levels.

"It was wrong, regardless," she said with a small sigh, lifting the her right index finger to lightly trace the top edge of her cup, collecting bits of powdered chocolate from it, "In the end, the affair lasted barely two months, and I ended it, after I came to my senses".

John lowered his cup back onto his saucer, swallowing his mouthful, "What made you end it?" he asked quietly, his voice almost drowned out by the noise of the rest of the café.

"Honestly…I had a pregnancy scare," she gave him a slightly embarrassed smile as his eyebrows lifted in surprise, though she wasn't sure why she suddenly felt so embarrassed, "I wasn't, thank God, but for those couple of days when I waited for the blood test results to come back I was terrified. It helped put a lot into perspective, John, made me realise just how much I hated the way I was living, how I wanted so much more then to just be another rich girl who partied all night and never truly had any real, honest friends. So…" she took a deep breath and broke into a proper, almost proud smile, "I started off by getting rid of him from my life".

He smiled broadly back at her, "That sounds like the Amelia I know," he commented proudly, and lifted his cup up towards her, almost like a little toast.

Amelia felt herself warm and she couldn't help grinning widely back at him, also lifting her cup up to silently toast him back, though their cups never connected, "I wasn't done there, though," she added, and her smile took on a slightly razor sharp edge to it and her dark eyes glittered, "I mean, he'd done this to me and it was obvious he'd done it to other girls. I wanted to make sure he'd never have the chance again, so I may or may not have ensured that he lost his job, then I might have accidently let slip to a few of the right people on campus about just why he had left, since the school tried very hard to keep it quiet, leaving my own name out it, of course".

"You didn't," his eyes widened, though his lips were lifted at the corners.

"He was predator who prayed on the weak and vulnerable to get his kicks, and while he might not have done anything illegal, he was morally corrupt. Plus, he used me, John; no one does that to a Moriarty. If it had been my brother, he would have killed him for what he did, but, luckily for him, I'm not James. So…I simply destroyed his entire career and marriage".

She didn't say it with any sort of pride or pleasure; she merely spoke as though it was a simple fact. She took little pleasure in it…well, okay, maybe she had kind of enjoyed seeing him fired and losing his marriage, she was human, after all, and while she might have played her role in the whole affair and was far from blameless for it, she had still been used. He had still targeted her because he had viewed her as weak and vulnerable, easy prey for someone like him, and Amelia hated that. She detested people who used other people's weakness to hurt them, it was another reason for why she hated it when Sherlock used to use Molly's own feelings for him against her, back when they first began working together, or why she tended to take something of a interest in cheating cases. She knew what it felt like to be in that position, to feel like a pawn. She refused to ever allow anyone to make her feel that way again.

"Jesus," John breathed, blinking rapidly at her, looking startled.

Amelia lifted her cup up to her lips and took a sip, leaving a red lipstick stain against the white porcelain, "He lives in Scotland now," she said lightly, bringing her gaze back up to his, "He owns a pub with his third wife, while he has a mistresses in East London. He travels here once a month to see her, no doubt under the guise of a business trip".

John's eyes widened in realisation, his lips parting in disbelief, "You…you still keep an eye on him?"

"I told you, no one uses a Moriarty, certainly not in the method that he did to me. So, yes, I keep an eye on him, from afar".

He nodded slowly, though he still looked rather alarmed, before he slowly frowned, "Sherlock doesn't know anything about this, does he?" he asked, eyeing her curiously.

"No," she admitted, taking another sip from her coffee.

"Amelia, you can't honestly think that Sherlock, of all people, is going to judge you for this".

Amelia glanced away from him. She wasn't concerned about Sherlock's reaction, she really wasn't, she doubted if Sherlock would even blink an eye, if she was to tell him…it was more her own issue speaking about it. When you keep something to yourself long enough, sometimes it just becomes easier not to speak of it, but she had to admit, it was something she should talk about, especially to Sherlock. She basically knew about his daemons in his past, he ought to know hers.

"How about this, John," she cleared her throat, turning her gaze back to him, giving him a gentle, but challenging look, "I'll tell Sherlock, if you tell Mary about your story".

John was already shaking his head, his expression instantly growing heavy with guilt and shame again, "I can't…I…" he paused, gathering his thoughts, before meeting her eyes miserably, "I know I have to, but she'll be devastated, Amelia. I love her, even after everything that's happened, and if I lost her…"

"You're stronger than this," Amelia told him firmly, reaching across the table to cover his hand as it rested on the table, next to his cup. She gave him a gentle, kind smile, "You and Mary will be okay, in the end. I know you will be, but it'll only make it worse for both of you if you try to hold this in, John. You're one of the most honourable, best men that I know, something like this will eventually burn you from the inside out and I love you far too much to watch that happen. Tell her".

….….Present….

Amelia sighed heavily and quietly closed her book, sitting it aside on the plane seat beside her. She shifted slightly so that she could rest her head on Sherlock's shoulder, Sherlock shifting very slightly next to her so that he was leaning more towards her, though she suspected that he hadn't even bothered to open his eyes yet. She closed her eyes, listening to the steady thump of his heart and the humming of the plane's engine, and hoped desperately that they truly all would be okay.

So, did people get the hints I've dropped in the past about Amelia's affair? I've been dropping them for quite a while now. I feel like it really was a big turning point for her character, it really did kind of open her eyes to the person she wanted to be and set her off down the path to becoming a detective, if she hadn't had the affair I feel like she probably would have gone on drinking and just having fun, until she probably would have ended up getting mixed up in harder drugs. So, in a way, it did save her, it certainly made her a better person. Also, there's a lovely hint in here to the other Moriarty brother mentioned in the last episode, and yes, I did call Amelia's father Andrew on behalf of Andrew Scott, it just seemed to fit very nicely.

Also, guys, I've decided to start using another site for clothing, mainly due to me not being entirely happy with the site I have been using. I haven't completely given up on it, mind you, but today's chapter's outfit has been made on their site. URSTYLE, under the penname Loulouflower, so you'll find it posted on their, as well as on my Tumblr, if you're interested.

Next chapter…yes, people, it's that chapter, the big confrontation. Buckle in, from this point forwards things are going to get a little…worrying.