Lady of Scarlet, Man of Ice, Part 1

The first time Amelia met Mycroft Holmes was long before she would ever come to fully understand or appreciate the massive impact that the last name 'Holmes' would even have upon her life. At the time, she couldn't have fathomed the connection she would one day have with Mycroft, let alone the relationship that she would come to adore with his baby brother. But hindsight was a curious thing, was it not? She had certainly found it to be so and even though she didn't believe in the notion of coincidence, and the Holmes brothers most assuredly didn't either, she had to admit, looking back, it seemed impossible for her path to not eventually cross with Sherlock.

However, it first started with Mycroft Holmes.

She was twenty five when she had first crossed paths with the older Holmes brother, at a birthday party, of all things. The party was in celebration for a one Eric Murphy, a very highly respected and regarded lawyer, who had made a career for himself largely dealing with the law surrounding high profile, multi-million pound properties, including some rather important property dealings within the government. If a Diplomat needed a home or discreet hide away hole for his mistress, Eric Murphy and his associates where just the type of law firm that one would go to. If the British government required a chunk of land for development of a top secret military base or something just as boring, there was no one better then Eric to ensure that all of the legal exchanges were handled swiftly and discreetly. He was also the very same man who Amelia's own father had used for just about every single property development that his own company had dealt with throughout the decades, making the late Andrew Moriarty and Eric very good friends. So close, in fact, that Eric Murphy was named Amelia's Godfather.

It wasn't exactly something she thought about, to be fair. Sure, Eric had been scattered throughout her entire life like something of an uncle figure, but even so, Amelia fondness for the man was largely one out of obligation, as a grown adult woman. He was the type of figure in her life that made her feel as if she needed to send him birthday and Christmas cards, but he wasn't necessarily someone that she chatted to over the phone. It wasn't because she disliked the man, no, in fact she had once been quite fond of him as a kid, it was more that she had simply out grown the need for that parental figure in her life. He wasn't her father and no matter what the role of 'Godfather' might mean, he never would be, and so Amelia had found herself merely associating with the man as a distant, casual, old family friend. It was for that reason alone that was why she was so startled to receive an invite to Eric's sixtieth birthday.

She wasn't going to go to it, at first, she had debated with herself for three weeks before sending back a response of 'Yes' to attending the party, just a weekend before it was due. Obligation, again, and for her father's memory alone, had made her agree to attend the no doubt dull, snobby party in the country estate, one she hadn't seen since she was at least eleven and had little desire to see, truth be told, but the possibility of probably picking-up a new client there was the sole reason she did go, in the end. Wealthy people all flocking together, highly influential, wealthy, elitist people who had dirty secrets and power complexes, and a degree of paranoia that made for an excellent hunting zone for new clients.

Sure, cheating scandals and tracking down someone's lovechild was far, far from what Amelia longed to be doing, let alone planned to do, but for now she didn't have a choice. The police wouldn't let an armature work with them, ever, and while she knew that she was no armature, in the eyes of the police she was nothing more than a rich girl, private eye playing detective. Maybe she was just a rich girl, but she was a damn fine detective and she knew her worth better than anyone, but even money couldn't get her to where she wanted. Maybe, just maybe, the right person could.

It was how she ended up at the party that she didn't want to be at, decked out in her grandmother's diamond and ruby necklace and earrings, matching the bold red silk dress that was figure hugging and retro in style, falling to her mid-calf and hanging off her shoulders, while matching red heels with bows on the back of the ankle strap gave her an added four inches. Her hair was curled in smooth, large curls and draped over one shoulder, lips painted a brilliant blood red and smoky browns highlighting her dark brown eyes. She felt as if she had stepped out of a black and white film from the fifties, very old school Hollywood glamour, but everyone and their mother was wearing the bandage style dress or big bulky belts, these days. She intended to stand out, just a little.

The Murphy estate was just as she remembered; looking like something out of a Pride and Prejudice movie with its wide, sweeping exterior and equally as expansive interior rooms. It even had a ball room, one that was still in keeping with the age of the Georgian house, black and white marble flooring and high ceilings and elaborate crown moulding, though there was still snippets of modern flair dotted about the place. A stage was set up in the corner of the room with a string quartet playing artfully, while servers in smart black and white suits walked amongst the mingling elite of London society, carrying trays of delicate hors d'oeuvres. A large bar sat on the opposite side of the room, providing a likely highly anticipated array of vintage wines and cocktails and whatever else for the majority of people in attendance who could barely survive the night without a drink in hand.

And amidst it all, Amelia stood and watched, gazing out over the mingling room from her vantage point off to the side of the room, but still within the centre, standing slightly over shadowed by a large vase of massive red roses and purple feathers that dotted the room on purple clothed bar tables. She hadn't taken a seat yet, she preferred to remain standing so that she could slip away should anyone she know from school or male admirers should attempt to approach her, having little desire tonight to socialise with anyone she didn't have to. Her fingers toyed with the thin stem of her cocktail glass, even though she hadn't taken a single sip of the drink since arriving forty minutes ago.

How long did she have to show her face before leaving and it not seem rude? And how long did she have to stay in order to make squeezing herself into this dress and silicone strapless bra worth wild? Probably at least another hour and a half, she expected slightly bitterly, red painted nails tapping restlessly on the velvet table cloth. She hadn't even spotted her Godfather yet, nor his wife, the fourth one, Julia or something. She knew she ought to be out there mingling, hadn't that been the whole point of even coming tonight? To try and obtain new clients? But now that she found herself here, observing the people around her, she found herself unable to stomach it, even if she could already spy at least four possible clients from a mere sweep of an eye.

A man by the bar with shaking hands and badly concealed week old love bite on his neck was an ideal target, especially when his wife stood right beside him with a strained, stiff smile on her face, shooting her husband suspicious glances whenever an attractive, young serving girl walked by them. An open and shut divorce case, that one. Then there was the imposter, who was decked out in glittering diamonds and pearls as she laughed and flirted with a man twenty years her senior by the entrance of the ball room. The jewels were real, but the dress was a very good knock off for a Chanel and the shoes, while real Louboutins, were at least ten years old and had been shoddily repaired, and the red souls touched up by red nail polish at least a few times, meaning that it was likely the only real designer heels that the woman possessed. Probably a jewels thief, one who didn't hold much stock in designer fashion, but one who knew they needed to disguise themselves in it to get to their targets. That one was more interesting, but only vaguely and purely because the woman stole for the thrill, not so much for the wealth.

The music was pleasant enough, even if Amelia was bored out of her brain, gazing at another man who was swapping adoring glances with his gay lover on the other side of the room, while he stood before his oblivious wife of at least eleven years, seemingly probably the ideal couple to their peer group. She sighed slightly, turning her gaze away from that depressing sight. A woman in a tight bandage dress and with perfectly curled hair hung off the arm of a man a short distant away, the woman painfully obviously merely a call-girl that was being used to make the man beside her look more masculine, while the man preened and flaunted his 'Date' like a trophy. Every single person in this room had come to the party with their own secrets and attempts at deception, and every one of them was like an open book to her eyes.

There was no challenge to it and no challenge meant little fun, and right now Amelia craved a challenge. She needed something to distract her, or else she was simply going to leave and all of her effort into her own disguise for the night would be wasted. It didn't even seem as if there was any potential clients worth chatting up here, all of them so painfully ordinary and simple, and while that was largely what her work consisted of, much to her own displeasure, there was only so much she could take, that her own pride could take. It was a mistake to come tonight, she should have known that forty minutes in this room with this lot would do nothing but sour her mood and make her miserable. No matter what people might think, just because she had money, dressed well, and had gone to school with the so called 'Elite' of society, she was far, far from a snob or one of them. This only reminded her again why she had gone to efforts to distance herself from those that she had once called 'Friends' at school.

She snagged a couple of hors d'oeuvres from passing serving staff, giving them grateful smiles and 'Thanks' as they paused to allow her to pick from their tray. Most of them seemed surprised by her basic manners, or perhaps it was merely because she had acknowledged them and not merely dismissed them. The food kept her distracted for another ten minutes and it was good enough that she at least could consider it to be a highlight of the evening, right until she spotted someone in the crowd that made her almost chock on her mouthful of prosciutto and ricotta wrap…

Danny Thorp, her ex-boyfriend of five months from uni…He still had the same bright, wide smile that had drawn her in the first time, along with the high, sharp cheek bones and light brown curls that had been neatly tamed into a sleek backcomb. She immediately began searching to an exit before he could spy her, recalling vividly how he had badgered her for three months following her breaking up with him, how he had begged her to take him back and then became angry when she refused. He had ended up telling their mutual friendship circle that she had been jealous and, worse of all, some of them had believed him and taken his side. It had made her instantly come to regret allowing herself to get involved with someone who had been a friend.

"Amy!"

Too late. Amelia froze as she began to hastily start to turn away, spotting a nice, large group of mingling people a little ways away who would provide for a nice cover for a little bit, only for her efforts to be dashed by the posh, south-eastern sounding accent that pretty much the entire room possessed, only she couldn't forget the sound of Danny Thorp's deep, if a little raspy, voice if she tried. She briefly closed her eyes and cursed ever attending this stupid party, firmly deciding that she would never again bother. She slowly turned around to find Danny approaching her with a glowing smile and appreciative, admiring eyes as he did little to pretend to not be eyeing her displayed curves. She instantly wanted to kick him.

"Wow," he said, shaking his head with a flirty glint glowing in his dilated eyes, "You look incredible".

"Danny," she said stiffly, glaring stonily back at him, "I didn't realise you would be here tonight".

"I hoped you would be," he told her confidently, giving her another charming smirk, stepping closer to her…Amelia remained firmly in her place, glaring at him without blinking, knowing well enough that this was his pathetic attempt to flirt and charm her, because there was no way he would have expected her to be here tonight, not when she had made a point to avoid attending most parties that her old friends might have attended, never mind the fact that she didn't typically party to begin with anymore, not since she had lost her father.

"I sincerely doubt that," she said without blinking, enjoying the flash of embarrassment that briefly crept into his face, tearing his smile briefly away, "After all, our last meeting resulted in me punching you, didn't it?"

He laughed, as if she had told a witty joke, "Same as ever, Amy," he shook his head, peering at her with a slightly more ugly twinkle to his eyes, now, lips curved into a cooler smile. She had hurt his ego, good, "You always did have an…odd sense of humour. Tell me, are you still playing detective these days?"

She spared him a sharp, cool smile, one that she knew instantly made her look uncannily similar to her brother. Danny was an idiot, she really had no clue why she dated him, it wasn't even as if he had been overly stimulating as a lover, either. He was average, at best, the sort of man-child who had grown up always knowing that he had his father's money and name to fall back on, no matter what, and who didn't really have to try overly much in life for that reason alone.

She considered him swiftly, gazing over the expensive two piece suit that he wore, the Italian leather bespoke shoes and pearl cufflinks with a small insignia embossed in gold on them, looking like a large castle gate with a crown above it. He didn't wear a tie, his shirt left casually unbuttoned at the top, while a dark blue pocket square peeked out of his lapel pocket. His nails were manicured almost as well as her own, while she noted that there was no signs of manual labour on his flesh, nor was he tanned or overly pale. Painfully simple, all of it. He worked indoors doing a desk job that was hardly of any great relevance, especially if he was advertising the fact that he worked at the House of Parliament on his cufflinks, but he was also extremely proud of that fact, probably imagining that it was something to boast about. The fact that he thought that boasting about it was in anyway special told her that his role truly was only minor. No one with any real power or authority would feel so insecure as to need to tell everyone about it so obviously.

"I see you archived your goal of entering parliament," Amelia remarked lightly, her tone dismissive, almost, borderline bored sounding, "Tell me, do you pretend to be a politician, or are you fool enough to really think you are one?"

She almost laughed at how bright red his cheeks instantly flared, how his eyes widened in shock and he actually reeled back from her, as if she had physically struck him. She merely gazed at him impassively and lifted her untouched drink to her mouth, sipping on it delicately to try and avoid rubbing her lipstick off on the thin rim. If she was a better woman, she probably would have kept her mouth shut and walked away, allowed his slight against her own career to go ignored, because it really had been petty, but she wasn't and she really hadn't forgotten what a smarmy idiot he was back at school. What could she say? She was a Moriarty, she didn't forget when someone wronged her, ever, and Danny had wronged her and had already attempted to make her feel inferior. Another slight that a Moriarty wouldn't, couldn't, ignore. Prideful and perhaps immature on her part, sure, she'd call herself guilty, but God was it worth it to see a grown man reel back from her with mere words.

"You're seriously the same," Danny breathed, though it was more like an angry hiss, eyes suddenly burning with barely restrained fury. He looked as if he wanted nothing more than grab her by the throat and throttle her, she noted with a flicker of disgust that his hand was curling at his side, an ugly scowl marring his handsome features.

"As are you, Danny," she replied calmly, "Disappointing as that is to find that you haven't evolved beyond jumping to nasty words and borderline intimidating tactics".

He took another step towards her, almost bringing them within merely a foot of one another, and Amelia still simply regarded him with a cool glare. He was truly pathetic to imagine that he could frighten her on any physical level, besides the fact that they were very much in public right now and she was a woman. She was far, far from worried, but that didn't mean that she didn't find herself terribly disappointed by how little Danny had bettered himself in the past few years that had passed. She liked to think that she had evolved since school; Danny was the type who never would.

"You're such a…"

"Mr Thorp," a calm, pleasant voice spoke, then.

Amelia watched almost curiously as all of the colour seemed to drain entirely from Danny's previously heated cheeks, instead an odd, almost sickly pallor seemed to wash over him as a look of horror and almost panic briefly flashed across his features. He gulped visibly and she smelt sweat, even before she noted how his brow looked a little clammier then it had before. Danny's visceral reaction to the stranger's voice was truly astounding to her and she was briefly mesmerised by it, blinking slowly as she processed quickly the sound of that voice. It held the same upper class; British lilt that Danny and even Amelia, over her Irish accent, carried, speaking of high education and very British roots, while there was undertones of what most would consider to be 'British news reader' accent lacing it. It was the sort of accent that told her that the speaker was someone who had been forced to learn how to speak in a manner that wouldn't completely alienate others of a different social class. It was a manner of speech that many politicians and news readers developed to sound more appealing. So, whoever it was a senior politician and someone that, seemingly, held great authority if Danny's reaction was anything to judge.

Amelia looked passed Danny and to the tall figure that stood but a few steps behind him, peering at the pair of them with a pleasantly bland expression, one that seemed to be trying to convey polite interest and concern, but it failed. She instantly realised it was because the emotion didn't match with the cool, displeased look that his icy blue eyes carried, a look that seemed directed to Danny's stiffened back. The man was at least 6'1, with broad shoulders that were not especially defined by muscle. He was at least nine years older than her, with neatly combed, brown hair that was tinged with a light copper in the bright lights of the room. His face oval shaped, with a high forehead and clean shaven…it was a nice face, actually. Mature, certainly, with fine lines already starting to mark his forehead and around his eyes. The suit he wore was very handsome and an expertly tailed three piece, made from a silk and wool blend, while an old, silver pocket watch hung from a chain attached to his waistcoat. A black umbrella with a cane handle was loosely grasped in his right hand.

"Mr Holmes," Danny greeted with a forced attempt to sound calm, even though he looked anything but as he turned around to face the new man. His tone was full of respect and politeness, and Amelia was startled by that alone, truth be told. He licked his lips nervously, "Enjoying the party, sir?"

That wasn't apparently what the man wished to discuss, because the ice in his eyes seemed to become near glacial and he narrowed them slightly on Danny, who looked as if he was about to melt into a puddle. Thin lips pulled into a tight grimace…until his gaze flickered away from Danny and to Amelia, catching her gaze. Some of the ice melted under her own curious, assessing stare, and she briefly noted that the man's eyebrow quirked, just faintly, his eyes flickering over her like a flash. It wasn't like Danny and his sleazy gaze, this was a quick, calculating look, not lingering anywhere that they shouldn't, and then his gaze was pulled back up to clash with her own and there was careful blankness there that shut away everything and anything he might have been thinking. His gaze sharply returned to Danny.

"Meeting old friends, I see," he remarked lightly, almost sounding pleasant, but the look in his eyes was far from nice.

Danny looked almost physically ill, "Eh, yes, sir".

Amelia couldn't help finding this entire situation just bizarre, truly weird, on so many levels she didn't even know where to start. Who was this man? Mr Holmes, Danny had called him, evidently someone that Danny knew and seemingly feared and respected. Interesting, indeed. She decided that introductions were in order.

"Amelia Wilson," she said to Mr Holmes, looking directly to him, ignoring Danny as if he wasn't even there. She held out her hand towards the man, giving him a polite smile.

The man considered her briefly, again flickering his gaze over her form, before a smile that didn't meet his eyes quirked his lips and he reached out to grasp her hand, shifting his umbrella to his left hand. His hand was larger than her own, but almost as soft, without any tan lines or marks. So, desk work, then, and indoors. She was willing to bet those hands had never endured manual labour in his life.

"Mycroft Holmes," he introduced himself, his handshake firm, but not the type that made her feel as if he was trying to crush her hand in a little power-battle. His skin was warmer then she expected from the ice in his eyes and after only three shakes, his grip was loosening and she was dropping the handshake. He instantly slipped his umbrella back into his right hand, his gaze remaining firmly on her face, and she had the uncanny sense that he was calculating her most closely right now even though his gaze didn't waver, nor did his polite façade of a smile faded, "It seems that you're in need a fresh drink, Miss Wilson. I was about to head in the direction of the bar myself, shall we?"

That was a total lie and they all knew it, Amelia's glass had barely had more than a sip taken from it, and it was very plain for them to all see that from where she was nursing the glass still absently in her hand. Still, her eyes glanced down at it and then flickered over to Danny, her lips curving into a sharp smile when she noticed how sickly and panicked he looked, seemingly rather in danger of keeling over at any moment, before her gaze shifted back to Mycroft Holmes, who still seemed polite but distant, but taking everything in with rapt attention. She almost laughed.

"Well…" she spared Mycroft a light, if knowing smile, "If you're already heading that way, why not?" she turned and, seemingly already having forgotten Danny, brushed straight passed the man without a glance at him.

Mr Holmes wasn't one to merely trail along, however, swiftly taking her cue to stepping up beside her, cutting a path through the ballroom over to the bar. Amelia noted with interest that people seemed to melt away from Mycroft's path, glancing at him and then hastily moving aside, some nodding to him with respect flashing across some faces, while others forced slightly strained polite smiles and swiftly looked away again. Just who was Mr Mycroft Holmes? She glanced at him from beneath her long eyelashes as they stepped up to the bar, space suddenly opening up for them, as if Mycroft's mere presences was enough to make people instantly either want to escape his calculating gaze or were just outright wary of the man. She had never seen people react like that to someone before, especially someone who wasn't a famous person or a known figure, so just what was so special about this bloke?

"Thanks for the save back there," Amelia said lightly, resting an elbow the top of the bar, turning her body slightly to face Mycroft. She peered at him with a light smile, keeping her glass in her hand, "Not that I needed it, but…" she shrugged, "Regardless, thanks".

Mycroft levelled his cool blue eyes on her, turning his own body very slightly towards her, too, "Mr Thorp's intentions were far from acceptable in polite society, Miss Wilson," he said, his tone light and calm, but there was still something lacking to it, something almost robotic, as if he was merely going along with the motions of what was expected. He smiled, thinly, but again, it felt forced and faked, just another mask, "Of course, you did seem to have it quite well in hand, however, my mother would be most displeased if I hadn't come to your aid".

She eyed him, noting that he hadn't so much as glanced at the bar, so he wasn't actually interested in drinking anything, either. A total ploy, then, to get them both away from Danny. She wasn't complaining, but it was amusing.

"You're also his boss, right?" she said with a slightly pointed look, gaze intently taking in any twitch or change to his expression, "Or at the very least someone far, far superior then Danny's pathetic position in Parliament, which wouldn't be very hard, I imagine, but certainly someone with a great deal of influence and power and authority, but yet you're not someone I've seen splashed across the papers or the news, so…" she paused briefly, thoughtfully regarding him, and squinted her eyes slightly, "Whoever you are, whatever your position is, it goes beyond merely that of a regular minister".

His expression barely shifted at all, much to her internal frustration and slight amazement, impressed despite herself by just how utterly cool and unflappable the man before her seemed. The only indicator at all that he wasn't just a very lifelike stature was the slow lift of his eyebrow while she had been speaking, the very slight narrowing of his eyes, before his expression smoothed out and a light, almost easy smile curved his lips. He looked almost amused.

"Very perspective of you, Miss Wilson".

"It's still not quite right, though, is it?" she sighed very slightly, eyeing him closely, frowning slowly now, "Oh, it's obvious that you're clearly very heavily mixed up with the British government, I expect that's where you started, but if you were just simply serving in a position of the government you would have popped up in the media at some point, so I can only presume that you're involved more in the secret services and government, something evidently very high up and enough to make Danny almost wet himself in terror at just the sound of your voice," she arched an eyebrow at Mycroft and lifted her glass, pausing before taking a sip to ask, "How perspective was that, Mr Holmes?"

There were times when Amelia wished she had kept her mouth shut, she had long ago learnt the social cues that made her understand that it really wasn't the moment to be blurting out what deductions she had noticed or made about someone, other times she simply let it spill freely because she wanted to make an impression, wanted people to take notice of her and perhaps shock them a little. This moment was perhaps leaning more towards making an impression, after all, Mycroft seemed like exactly what she was after, the sort of person with authority to be able to perhaps get her the opportunity to work on cases more suited to her skills and intelligence, why not make sure she left him with a strong impression of just what she was capable of? However, when Mycroft merely peered at her with cool, apathetic eyes for several long seconds, she couldn't help wondering if her own ego and pride had perhaps miscalculated severely. She had, after all, basically just outed him as being some sort of high-up, secret intelligence agent within the British government at a birthday party where anyone and their mother could overhear them…not the smartest play, perhaps.

Mycroft, however, didn't look angry, in fact, he seemed to be carefully considering her, almost thoughtfully now, sharp eyes roaming over her features and her entire form. Again, it wasn't sleazy or admiring, it was all far too calculating and shrewd for that.

"Quite perspective, indeed, Miss Wilson," he said finally, lips curving into another shallow farce of a smile, "In fact, you remind me of someone, of course, this certain individual is not prone to indulging in social constructs…" he almost seemed to grow softer, almost, "It would be curious how they would respond to you, Miss Wilson".

"Most people either love or loath it. There's little in-between".

He chuckled very lightly, peering at her knowingly, "Well, rest assured, there's little in-between about this individual," he remarked, still with that degree of softness that made Amelia curious. He smiled again, gazing at her thoughtfully, lips still curved in a small, vaguely amused smile, "Still, an intriguing prospect. Tell me, do you enjoy your detective work?"

It might have startled her had such a question been posed to her before she had deduced him, but upon barely a reaction or a bat of an eye to her own deductions, Amelia had only been able to conclude that Mr Holmes was perhaps familiar with the practice. Naturally, if he was familiar with it then one could presume that perhaps he had a talent for it himself, which evidently was proven correct. So, she didn't flicker an eye or frown at the seemingly random remark, instead, she calmly sipped her drink again and lowered it slowly, regarding him carefully, as if he had merely enquired about whether or not she liked the colour red.

"I enjoy true detective work, yes," she answered bluntly, "Which is unfortunately not the same as solving cheating and petty fraud cases, which is what I find myself lobbed with currently".

"Have you considered branching out, Miss Wilson".

She levelled him with a hopeful smile, "Are you offering, Mr Holmes?" she asked, unable to help fluttering her eyelashes, just slightly, because in her experience men were far more likely to say 'Yes' to a little bit of harmless flirting.

He arched a brow in response, "Considering something, Miss Wilson," he said mysteriously instead, eyeing her with a sly, calculating eye, and this time when his gaze did flicker over her Amelia's ego was pleased to note that it did linger just slightly, just enough to tell her that her flirting hadn't been entirely wasted or missed, but when his gaze lifted back up to her own with barely a flicker of any emotion, it seemed that he was far better at this game then she might have expected. He smiled smoothly, then, "I need to take my leave now, Miss Wilson, intriguing as I'm sure this conversation would be…"

Amelia smiled slyly at that, taking another small sip from her glass to stifle her smirk. Mycroft Holmes was perhaps a little too old for her and definitely not physically her normal type, but he was clever and she found that exciting, she had the oddest impression that he wasn't even showing her just how smart her truly was, too, and she was just a little fascinated by that, but she had also tried to move passed indulgingly in purely physical relationships. A bit of flirting was harmless, but that was as far as she probably ought to take anything with the likes of the mysterious and evidently powerful Mr Holmes.

"…I imagine our paths will cross again," he continued, peering at her with an equally knowing glint in his cool blue eyes.

"Until then…." she coyly toasted her glass slightly towards him, smiling knowingly.

His gaze lingered on her, before he turned and slipped away, disappearing almost instantly into the gathered guests. Amelia smiled to herself and drunk down the last of her drink, turning her back to the room. Perhaps this party wasn't so helpless, after all.

So does anyone know that Amelia and Mycroft almost did become sort of a thing? Originally, I was going to do a bit of a love triangle between Amelia, Mycroft, and Sherlock…but I changed my mind because I kind of figured that if Amelia had feelings for Mycroft, that would be a total turn-off to Sherlock and ultimately he was always going to be the winner, so that wouldn't have worked. Plus, I really grew out of thinking that love triangles were fun, but I honestly kind of always felt like Mycroft and Amelia would have some great chemistry if Sherlock wasn't in the picture, Amelia's attracted to intelligence like a moth to a flame and Mycroft has that, even though Sherlock has way more qualities that Amelia prefers and needs in a romantic partner, plus, by that stage she kind of wants to punch Mycroft all the time.

This was really fun to write, though, and I so enjoyed experimenting with what might have been, like I said, I suspected Amelia and Mycroft would have chemistry, but I was a little surprised by how much it seemed to flow between them. Would they have jumped into bed together that fast? Nah, but Amelia was far, far more openly flirty in these days and Mycroft is definitely intrigued by her, so it's a start.

Amelia's outfit will be on my Tumblr and Pinterest. Let me know what you thought, please review :)