Dinner Date

Featuring: Sherlock Holmes and Amelia Wilson

She doesn't miss the way that his eyes remain glued to the menu before him, even though he had surely had more than enough time to not only read it fully, including the rather large and expensive range of wine's that the restaurant had to offer them, but also the entrees, mains, and deserts offered. He had to have memorised the entire thing by now, after all, he was Sherlock Holmes, the one and only consulting detective…well, almost one and only, Amelia was still getting used to the idea that she technically was one now herself, even if she still caught herself thinking of herself as being a private detective. So his fascination with reading the menu over and over again must have to do with something else.

Amelia observed him curiously from over the edge of her own glossy, leather backed menu. She truly did find him to be one of the most interesting people to watch, he was typically so carefully controlled in regards to his own thoughts or emotions, when he actually let something slip passed that controlled exterior of his it was rare but always so interesting to her to see. She imagined she was probably one of the only people who ever actually did manage to peek behind that curtain and see just what it was that Sherlock Holmes tried so hard to keep hidden from everyone, including himself, she thought. Even John, for his uncanny ability to be able to actually remain friends with herself and Sherlock and still somehow like them, so rarely ever noticed when Sherlock was lying about something, or when he was trying to conceal something from him and herself. But Amelia noticed, perhaps not all the time, but for the most part she could read Sherlock's intentions without too much difficulty.

Of course, he had managed to completely throw her off when he had suddenly asked her to have dinner with him. Oh, she hadn't missed the subtle, unspoken implication of it, Irene Adler was hardly the most subtle woman on the plant and all her hints about wanting to go out for 'dinner' during her one sided texting for the past several months hadn't gone without Amelia's notice, even if she would rather not wish to think about it. But Sherlock hadn't asked her to dinner with quite the same intentions in mind as Adler had…or Amelia was quite certain he hadn't, otherwise things were going to get very awkward…not that she didn't find Holmes attractive, of course, she did, she always had a thing for the intelligent, dark haired and high cheek boned guys, but there was a certain line that she felt shouldn't be crossed. Plus, it was Sherlock, when had he so much as glanced admiringly in the direction of any woman? No, Amelia felt she was quite better off not allowing herself to get mixed up with any of that.

She refused to allow herself to even go deeply down that path, she had dated a guy in her class in university and that had been bad enough when she'd ended it, she couldn't imagine that dating a friend, let alone a friend she also happened to work with, would be any less horrible to have to deal with if things didn't work out and she was far too old now to be naïve enough to imagine the what if's of what would happen if things might work out. It was perhaps a little too cynical of her to think that way, but she had become rather cynical about dating and love, even if Molly did try to change her mind with her ever hopeful and positive outlook on almost everything.

Across from her, Sherlock lightly turned the page of his menu, still looking utterly engaged in whatever he was reading. It made Amelia's eyebrow twitch, returning her attention back onto him and his curious behaviour. Absently, she closed her own menu and sat it on the table before her, reaching for the chilled glass of water sitting on the table to her right, carefully sipping it with well practice ease so that she didn't accidently end up ruining her red lipstick, nor end up accidently dripping any of it down the front of her fitted Dolce &Gabbana white dress with roses printed across the fabric. Now, what was going on with him? The menu certainly wasn't that interesting…and then it hit her.

He was completely and totally out of depth.

Amelia almost laughed at her own stupidity for not having caught on sooner, of course he was out of depth, he had probably rarely ever had dinner with anyone outside of a case before now. It made her all the more curious for why he had been the one to ask her to dinner in the first place, when he was so clearly uncomfortable. She lowered her glass back down onto the crisp white table cloth covering the rounded table they were sitting at. A part of her considered letting him drag on this whole charade of him pretending to read the menu while she acted as though she hadn't noticed, but she felt like that might be a bit cruel, given how obviously uncomfortable he surely must be feeling. So she carefully searched for a topic and found that one came easily to her.

"You know…" she began lightly, and she noted how his eyes snapped up from the menu at once, fixing steadily on her. Anyone else might have felt having his sudden attention placed upon them like that intermediating, but she wasn't so easily frightened, having a brother like James Moriarty tended to do that to someone, "I've always been rather curious about your name," she went on, "Sherlock is so unusual, I've never actually come across anyone with it for a first name. Not to mention Mycroft's name, you're parents must be very interesting people".

"Hardly," Sherlock scoffed, closing his menu and sitting it aside, clasping his hands together on the table before him, "They're dull, I assure you".

"Oh, please, anyone who could raise two kids like you and Mycroft couldn't possibly be 'dull,' Sherlock".

"You would be surprised," he replied, giving her a rather disinterested look, "They just happen to have an odd taste for names for their children, of course…" he hesitated slightly, his eyes drifting away from her, "Sherlock isn't technically my first name".

Amelia's eyebrows rose, feeling instantly curious and rather eager to hear more, and judging by the very faint crinkle of his nose, she thought that perhaps Sherlock regretted having admitted that to her. She wouldn't be surprised, he seemed to enjoy surrounding himself with mystery, he really was the most dramatic guy she had ever met. He could walk into Baker Streets living room randomly one evening dressed like Dracula and she and John probably wouldn't even bat an eye, in fact, she was almost tempted to convince him to do just that to see if her theory was correct, John being the unwitting test subject, of course.

"What is your first name, then?" she asked, trying hard not to sound too eager. She didn't think she succeeded, however, since he gave her a rather withering glare.

"It's really very boring and unimportant, Amelia…"

"Please".

He stopped short and Amelia stared at him hopefully, giving him a tiny, encouraging little smile. He eyed her closely for a moment long, before releasing a small, almost exasperated sigh, "You're a detective, Amelia," he said, giving her a challenging look, "If you're really that interested, deduce it yourself".

Amelia sighed and threw him a disappointed look, tapping her red painted fingernails against the table cloth, "Seriously?" she muttered.

He smirked at her, obviously feeling rather pleased with himself, though Amelia wasn't going to just give up on learning his full name, not now that she knew that there was more to it than just 'Sherlock' or 'Holmes'. She could ask Mycroft, of course, but he'd probably use it as a means to owe him a favour and she had seen Sherlock's ID and it had Sherlock as his first name, so she imagined he must have legally have changed it at some point. Hardly surprising, of course he'd want to go by such an uncommon name.

"What's wrong, Amelia?" he gave her a mock innocent look, "I thought you enjoyed a challenge?"

"Don't worry, Holmes," she told him lightly, giving him a sweet smile, "I'll find out the truth, I always do in the end. This isn't over".

"I look forward to it".

She picked up her glass of water and mockingly toasted it towards him, before sipping it lightly without breaking eye contact with him. In the low, romantic lighting of the restaurant his eyes almost looked greener then blue, because of course he would also have eyes that couldn't possibly be one simple colour but seemingly three. Brown eyes would have been too common for him; why not have three different colours for different lighting? Yeah, that sounded like Sherlock, though he couldn't exactly be held responsible for his genetic makeup.

She placed her glass delicately back onto the table, watching him closely, her hand lightly damp from the condensation coating the smooth, curved surface of the glass. Silence settled over them and Sherlock seemed, once again, to find it difficult to quite know how to proceed, while Amelia waited curiously to see what he would do. It was rather odd to see him so uncomfortable, so utterly out of depth, he was usually so sure of himself and more than happy to talk, rather quickly, while on a case or scoffing at something, but apparently just a simple, friendly conversation was too much for him to quite know how to proceed. She didn't want to make him uncomfortable, but she also didn't want to enable him from trying to engage with another human being, because she knew he was capable of it, she just thought he needed to be given that first stepping stone or push into a direction when it came to, which she had already provided for him once. Now, she wanted to give him the chance to take the next step.

Their waiter approached their table and took their orders, breaking the slightly awkward air that had draped their table. Amelia turned her attention back onto Sherlock as their waiter departed with their orders and their menus in hand, unknowingly taking away Sherlock's chance of possibly avoiding any impending conversation, if he didn't want to be rude and go on his phone, which even Sherlock seemed to have realised wasn't the correct social norm while having dinner with someone at a nice French restaurant. Twenty seconds dragged on between them, Amelia lifting one eyebrow very slightly at Sherlock, as though to ask him what he was going to do next. He cleared his throat.

"I suppose…" he tried to look casual, though he failed miserably, "…that this would be the part in normal social convention where I would ask you something about your family?"

Amelia smiled faintly, feeling a little proud of him, "You can, if you want," she told him, before shrugging lightly, "But you really don't need to follow 'normal social convention' if you don't want to. I don't care, honestly".

Sherlock nodded casually again, still no quite able to pull it off as his eyes drifted around the room, quickly looking around at the other patrons sitting at tables dotted around the restaurant, talking and eating their meals. Amelia thought he might be trying to deduce them in order to help try to ease himself more, falling back onto something he was comfortable with in order to be able to try and do something he was much less comfortable with. But she allowed him the chance to do it, observing his guarded expression, trying to get a peek into his mind.

"And how would you define your parents?" he finally asked, his gaze suddenly back on her. He actually looked curious now, as though he actually wanted to know and wasn't just doing it because it was expected, "Considering that they raised a son who turned out to be a consulting criminal and a daughter who is completely opposite".

"Oh, I'm not sure if I'm so different from James," Amelia remarked thoughtfully, her eyes drifting down to watch ideally as she traced a random pattern across the table cloth, "We just have different ethics and motivations, I think, but we both share the same relish for our work. I could very well have become a criminal, had I not felt more drawn towards helping people then James, but I'm certainly not an angel," her eyes flickered back up to Sherlock, who had been watching her intently, "I am a Moriarty and James's twin, we have more in common than just a fifty percent share of genes and a taste for Westwood".

Sherlock almost looked amused, "Still, you can't deny that it's curious," he said lightly, "You are both twins and yet, you both took very different paths in life. It would make for an excellent psychological experiment".

"It would, wouldn't it?" she agreed, smiling faintly, "But anyway, as for my parents…" she shook her head, remembering what his actual question had been, before she had gotten sidetracked, "I suppose they were relatively interesting to some, probably not to you. My mum was French, she moved to Ireland when she and dad married and spent most of her time organising charity events. Dinners, auctions, fundraises, that sort of thing…"

"Wilson is hardly a French last name, Amelia".

"Ah, well, my grandfather was English, who in turn married a French woman and settled in France, hence the less then French last name. As for my father, he owned a real-estate developing company, which was and still remains one of the most prominent companies in the field to this day. I still own fifty percent of the company, James would have had the other half, but of course he was disinherited".

"Why?" Sherlock questioned at once.

Amelia smirked slightly, "Trying to learn more about the enemy?"

"I would be an idiot if I didn't, which we both know that I'm not".

"Just as you're certainly not humble about it," she added, laughing lightly. Sherlock didn't even bother to pretend to be embarrassed for her calling him out on his arrogance, not that she was expecting him to be, "Not that I imagine it will be of much help, but dad disinherited James after he found out James had started to get involved with a more criminal element, so when we turned eighteen, James took off and I changed my last name to Wilson," she sighed slightly, frowning lightly to herself, "That was a very pleasant birthday".

"'A criminal element?' Could you possibly be any vaguer, Amelia?"

"Hey, I don't know the details," she quickly defended herself, pointing a finger at him, "I was off sneaking into clubs and having fun, I hardly knew what day of the week it was half the time. I did tell you it wouldn't be helpful".

Sherlock gave her a half-exasperated, half-disappointed look, "Your detailed account was positively thrilling, Amelia".

Amelia rolled her eyes at his sarcasm, but she found herself oddly unaffected by it, unlike in the past when she might have taken offence and used it as a chance to annoy him further, "I was a rebelling teenage girl, Holmes," she said dryly, "I was hardly caring about what James was up to, just as long as he wasn't bothering me".

"One might have thought as his sister, you would be the best person to stop him".

"Oh, because you and Mycroft are so terribly close?"

"Close? Hardly. But at least I know how to stop him".

He was smiling faintly now and Amelia eyed him, feeling a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth, realising that he was actually joking now, "Oh?" she asked, mock curious as she leaned closer towards him from across the table, "Do tell, Holmes".

"Chocolate ripple cake".

She couldn't help the giggle that escaped her, her hand flying up to cover her lips as she kept laughing, unable to help herself. It wasn't even that funny, but since Sherlock so rarely actually teased or made a joke like that, she couldn't help herself from letting herself be swept up by it. Sherlock was actually smiling to, a proper, real smile that made his eyes lighten and crinkle lightly at the edges; making him suddenly look so much more relaxed and comfortable then he had all evening. It suited him, she thought, seeing him actually smiling sincerely about something and not just scoffing or rolling his eyes at something he deemed to be 'Stupid'.

"Poor Mycroft," Amelia grinned, letting her hand drop back down onto the table, shaking her head, "We shouldn't tease him when he's not even here to defend himself, Sherlock".

Sherlock shrugged; looking completely unconcerned by it, "We haven't even touched on John's jumpers yet…" he gave her an almost innocent little smile, though the glimmer in his eyes was far from innocent.

"Stop it," she couldn't help her smile widening, however. She playfully kicked her red sandaled heels into his shin, far too soft to ever hurt him; in fact she'd probably break her toes if she did actually try to properly kick someone in her heels.

"Oh, course, there's positively hours worth of material in Lestrade's career alone…"

"Sherlock, we are not sitting here gossiping about our friends!"

Sherlock lifted an eyebrow at her, sitting comfortably back into his chair as he brought his hands together beneath his chin, his fingers steepled together, "So why are you smiling, Amelia?" he smirked.

Amelia groaned and covered her face, though she couldn't wipe her amused smile from her face, "Shut up," she muttered, peering through her fingers at him, trying to give him a stern look, "We are not giggling over our friends, Sherlock. That isn't very nice".

"Fine," he sighed, rolling his eyes. Amelia nodded firmly and reached for her glass, really starting to feel quite hungry now…, "But…did Lestrade ever tell you of the time he was almost hit by a police car that he forgot to put into park?"

Amelia very nearly choked on her water, though she had thankfully only just touched her lips to the rim of the glass, unable to stop herself from breaking into loud laughter that earned her a few dark looks from the tables that surrounded them. She quickly sat her glass down and covered her mouth, giggles shaking her body as Sherlock smiled widely, looking almost victorious.

"I never did hear that story, no," she shook her head, once she had managed to control her laughter enough to be trusted to try speaking, "But I do recall one incident during a rather bloody crime scene when Lestrade slipped over and ended up covered head to toe in blood an hour before he was supposed to be having a meeting with the chief superintendent…he didn't have a change of clothing, either and the forensic overalls could only protect him so much…"

….

The food was positively delicious and the glass of wine that Amelia had decided to indulge herself in had been an excellent choice. She couldn't remember the last time she had actually enjoyed herself more during a dinner, she and Sherlock continued to talk about some of the more embarrassing things that they had witnessed during their cases, many of which involving either Anderson or Lestrade, and while Amelia did feel a little bad about talking about Lestrade so much, she couldn't bring herself to feel guilty about Anderson. In fact, she could hardly believe that their meal was almost finished as she sipped on her coffee, their waiter just taking away their empty desert plates.

"So…" she began, feeling comfortably full and on the edge of getting sleepy, the wine and good food no doubt doing its trick. God, she was getting old, wasn't she? "Tell me about your first case".

Sherlock lowered his small, white cup from his lips, "Ah, my best work, some might say," he said with a hint of sarcasm, though Amelia looked eagerly at him. He sighed, looking as though he was seriously debating with himself about sharing, before he fixed her with a very serious look, "It was the Mysterious Case of the Missing Gumboot".

Amelia blinked slowly, certain she had misheard, "Please go on," she urged him, realising that he was actually talking about something from his childhood, which she knew pretty much nothing about.

He gave her a very stern look, no doubt noting her growing excitement, "If you so much as breathe a word of this to anyone…"

"No one else will know, I swear. It'll stay between us, Holmes".

He still looked as though he was deeply regretting so much as mentioning the story, but it was too late now, "I was seven," he began, "As a young child, I had a certain…interest in pirates…"

"Aww," Amelia cooed, grinning at the warning glare he shot her.

"As I was saying…" he went on, his tone growing a bit more annoyed, "I liked pirates, but I wasn't allowed to go outside without my gumboots on…don't even think about making that sound again," he gave her a sharp look as she broke into a delighted smile. She quickly held her hands up, though she was still grinning, making him sigh loudly, "But when I want to collect them from the back door, they had disappeared. My first deduction was Mycroft had hidden them, but even back then Mycroft would rarely go out of his way to bother trying to find a hiding spot. But why would my parent's take them? It made little sense…"

"So who took them?" Amelia asked, strangely fascinated by the innocent story he was telling her.

"No one, though technically it was my mother. Apparently, they had been so muddy that my mother had sat them outside to be cleaned once they had dried".

She couldn't help laughing faintly, feeling her cheeks actually starting to ach from smiling and laughing so much, "That was…adorable, Sherlock," she told him, utterly thrilled that he had actually shared such a sweet, innocent little story from his childhood with her.

"And you?"

"Well, I did solve a few minor cases myself as a rather nosy little girl, such as the missing Cabbage Patch Doll that my brother was responsible for. But my first real case was what turned me into a detective, rather than the criminal psychologist I thought I would be".

Sherlock was watching her with open interest now, sitting up straighter, "Yes?"

Amelia frowned very faintly, glancing down at the table, recalling the memories, "Well, I didn't really know what I wanted to do when I left school," she said slowly, "I considered the police force, but I found the whole system to be…dull, constrictive. I wanted more freedom, not politics, but I had found psychology so interesting and since I already had an interest in crime, I thought criminal psychology might be the best of both worlds," she glanced back up to him, finding him eyeing her closely, listening intently, "So I went down that path, though I'll admit that my time at uni was largely partying, until after dad died. Suddenly, I had all this responsibility, property, more money then I even knew what to do with…and I was alone".

"Your brother?"

"I couldn't possibly tell you, he didn't even go to dad's funeral, and I can assure you that I was hardly missing his pleasant company," she made a slight face, before going on, "Anyway, I was a bit of a mess, the things I did, Sherlock…well, I regret that stage of my life more than anything, but I did manage to clean myself up and actually focus on school, stopped hanging around with all my drinking friends and probably saved myself from developing an addiction to alcohol. Then, after I graduated, I found myself moving into the townhouse in Belgravia…"

"Amelia, as fascinating as this story is, remind me again what it has to do with your first case?"

"I'm setting the scene, Sherlock," she rolled her eyes, giving him a look; "I'd only been living in the house for a week, when I had a knock on the door. The father of a girl I had known through mutual friends had somehow found out I was interested in crime and he managed to track me down. He was beside himself, hadn't showered in days or slept, for that matter, because his daughter had gone missing. The police weren't interested; she was mixed up heavily in drugs and had been known to disappear frequently, but the father insisted it was different".

"Hardly unusual, as cases go," Sherlock remarked, though he didn't yet seem to be bored and was still looking intently at her, clearly curious to hear more.

"Sadly, that's true. So I tried to help, even though I felt horribly out of depth, but the police did seem rather indifferent and her father was so upset, I couldn't possibly not try to look for the girl. I started with the basics, looking at those close to her and her life, habits, likes and dislikes, until I found a lead and followed it…only I was too late, she was already dead".

"Again," he cut in, not appearing to be in the slightest bit affected, though Amelia couldn't say she didn't still feel sad when she thought about it, "Not an uncommon outcome with a client like that".

Amelia sighed grimly, nodding, "Still, it was rather horrible," she said quietly, "I was the same age as her and I just thought…well, I was hopeful," she fell silent for a moment, before drawing in a deep breath and returning her gaze to his, "But it wasn't the end of the story, you see she'd been murdered. The way her clothing was and her body had been covered felt wrong to me, but the police ruled it as an accidental overdose, but every instinct in my said otherwise. I decide to go at it alone and I solved it but it didn't feel like much of a victory. It almost ruined my career, too".

He was watching her even more closely now, leaning slightly towards her with his fingertips pressed together beneath his chin, his eyes running over her features swiftly. She could almost hear the thoughts buzzing inside his mind; it truly was so fascinating to watch him think like that. Not that she would ever admit that, not ever.

"What changed your mind?" he asked, his voice sounding strangely soft.

"I went to her funeral," Amelia replied, her eyes dropping back down onto the table cloth, remembering the day so vividly that she could still smell the lilies in the air, "Seeing her friends and family there, mourning for her, made me realise that there was a bigger picture to solving crimes. It wasn't about me," she looked up at him, her eyes growing harder, "It was about the impact that having that crime solved would have on the victim and those close to them. That's what I work for, Sherlock, not the thrill of the chase or the enjoyment of the puzzle, I do it for them".

Sherlock didn't respond, but she did think she saw something flicker in his eyes, something close to respect, perhaps even a hint of admiration, but it was gone just as quickly as she had seen it, his emotions closed off and closely guarded once more. But just for that second, she felt a sense of pride fill her.

….

It was getting on to midnight by the time they had left the restaurant and gotten a cab back to Baker Street, Amelia had almost instantly stripped her sandaled heels off the second she had stepped into the entrance hallway of Baker Street. She didn't miss the eye roll Sherlock sent her, though he seemed to refine from making a remark about how impractical her choice in clothing was, perhaps she wasn't the only one who was starting to feel closer to each other after their rather successful evening. She hid a small smile at the thought and trailed behind him up the stairs, both of them pausing on the landing outside Sherlock's living room door and the door leading into her own flat, looking at each other in silence, though it was strangely comfortable.

"Thank you, Sherlock," Amelia began, giving him a smile, though she felt like she wanted nothing more than to take off all her makeup and crawl into bed right about now, "It was really very nice of you to suggest we have dinner. It was fun".

"It…wasn't completely tortures," he agreed, making her laugh, before she could stop herself.

"Way to make it sound so dramatic," she shook her head, though she was still smiling and not in any way offended, in fact she thought she was starting to understand Sherlock a little better, read between the lines a bit more to decipher what else he might mean, which wasn't always meant to be offence or mean. Or she thought so, anyway.

The edge of his mouth rose very faintly, barely visible, if one wasn't looking closely for it, "You did surprise me, Amelia," he remarked lightly, "You're not nearly as annoying as I was expecting".

"So you enjoyed yourself, then?"

"I didn't say that…"

"You didn't have to," she cut across him, smirking as he shot her a mildly irritated look, which had no true emotion behind it. Her smirk softened as she licked her lips, shifting slightly, making the floorboards beneath her creak under the rug covering the floor, "I…also feel like I owe you another thank you, for…well, the whole Adler mess…"

Almost instantly, Sherlock's expression closed off and his shoulders stiffened, very slightly, "Amelia…"

"No, Sherlock," she said firmly, meeting his eyes. She stepped slightly closer to him, bringing their faces a mere inch away from each other, "I know she's still alive," she whispered, smiling very faintly at the hint of surprise that crossed his face, "And I know you saved her from whatever mess she had gotten herself into, a mess I helped land her in when I cracked the code on her phone. So…I am grateful to you, Sherlock, for saving her life. I couldn't have handled having her death on my hands".

He leaned back from her slightly, narrowing his eyes, "It wouldn't have been your fault".

"Perhaps not, but I still would have felt guilty".

"That's ridiculous".

"Whoever said that guilt wasn't a ridiculous emotion?" she shot back, smirking again as she took another step back from him, "Good night, Sherlock".

She didn't wait to hear or see how he reacted; instead she turned on her heel and crossed the short distance to her door into her own flat, feeling very happy and hopeful for what this new friendship between herself and Sherlock may mean for their working relationship. It certainly couldn't hurt.

And finished, finally! I've had this partly written up for months now and I only just got the motivation to finally finish it. I feel like this is a very important turning point for Amelia and Sherlock, they've realised that they actually can get along and they've bonded more, their friendship is firmly being established. We also learnt more about Amelia, which is something I've so desperately tried to sprinkle in the main story, but it's hard when there's so much action and other more important stuff going on, half the time it would feel out of place to have her mention how she got into private detective work or more about her family.

A big thank you to uNICOrnDIANGELO for suggesting that I write this one shot, I finally got around to doing it and I hope you liked it. If anyone has any more suggestions, I'd love to hear them and Amelia's outfit will be on my Tumblr, Shoplook, and Pinterest page. Tell me what you thought, please review :)