The Aluminium Crutch, Part 1

It was a relatively uncommon thing these days, that Amelia Wilson found herself with an entire Saturday evening with nothing to do, but enjoy staying home and watching telly, catching up on some of her shows that she hadn't had time for, most of them reality nonsense that was shockingly addictive, if a little embarrassing to have to confess to avidly watching. What was it about the Real House Wives and Kardashians? And so for once, in over a solid month of spending most of her time chasing after London's criminals alongside Sherlock Holmes and Doctor John Watson, Amelia found herself quite happily with the night off. Sherlock had been moaning so awfully for the past three days about his never ending boredom, only earlier that day, in fact, Amelia and John had to practically wrestle the curly haired detective away from the open living room window and stop him from yelling at passes by in his frustration with the lack of any decent cases, so needless to say, Amelia and John had both quickly found themselves with something to do other then sit around and listen to his constant complaints.

John had gotten himself a date, though Amelia had refrained from commentating on how very much she doubted that anything would come from it, instead smiling and nodding in approval when he had ducked in to her flat to get a look over at his outfit, something that had become a rather frequent habit these days. After he had left, however, Amelia had to admit, she had found herself a tiny lost as to what to do for the evening, given the fact that she had no intention of going near Sherlock, if she could help it. She was half expecting to hear his violin playing through the walls, but it never came, not even after she had finished cooking her simple meal of grilled garlic and lemon fish, and steamed vegetables, nor did she hear any off or curious bangs from the other side of the wall during her twenty minute long soak in her bathtub after dinner was finished.

Sherlock was being shockingly and uncharacteristically silent, in fact, she was starting to worry a little bit that he might have gotten himself into some sort of trouble. She found herself having to pause the recording of her show every ten minutes or so, finding herself unable to fully relax and just throw herself into the meaningless and petty drama of total strangers in order to just listen, ignoring the dulled city noises from outside her windows, just to try and hear any hint of noise that came from her usually fairly noisy neighbours. Sherlock was rarely silent, especially when he was bored, hell; she was just waiting to hear the sound of him playing with John's gun or some loud clattering noise from him carelessly tossing things about, only yesterday Amelia had been kept up until two in the morning by the sound of Sherlock throwing books around the place, having suddenly decided to completely reorganise and arrange his book shelves. By tossing his books onto the floor.

This man truly had no respect for anything when he was bored.

So, naturally, it was all rather worrying just how quiet Baker Street had fallen this evening, but Amelia tried hard to ignore it. Even while she sat there and patiently and carefully painted each fingernail a deep shade of black, even while she waited for the paint to dry and found herself gazing distractedly between the TV and the adjoining door between her flat and the boys, even while she flicked to the next recording and checked her phone, half-expecting a text from Sherlock, half-hoping for one just to reassure her that the man was alright. There was no message and so she released a small sigh of air through her freshly exfoliated lips and dropped her BlackBerry back onto the cushion beside her, fixing her eyes determinedly back upon her TV flat screen, while an entire holiday dinner party erupted into some petty argument between Housewives over some bit of trivial gossip. But she only half-listened to it all, try as she might.

Sherlock was difficult, he was a tricky character, for sure, stubborn, rude, cold, aloof, merely to name a few of his less then lovely traits, but Amelia also thought that he could be quite amusing, too, he had a sharp, sarcastic wit that surprised and humoured her all the time, he was by far the sharpest mind she had ever encountered, and he could be kind and caring, when the moment struck him, he could be considered almost tender. She had witnessed it when Sarah had been kidnapped by the Chinese smuggling ring, how he had kindly and swiftly tended to Sarah's needs, before anything else, including catching the ringleader. Amelia had been surprised to see such a side of Sherlock come out, but she had seen more sides of him since then, and the longer that she spent time around him and the two of them even began getting along with one another, the more she came to appreciate and enjoy Sherlock's company.

And just like that, it was almost as if her very mind had summoned him up, because in the next second the adjoining door swung open without any knock or tap, and Sherlock himself came stepping into the room, fully dressed. He was even wearing his plum coloured button up shirt, which she could see from just around his blue scarf that he had wrapped around his neck, draped in his favourite coat, collar popped up and all.

Amelia hastily grabbed for the TV remote, acutely and embarrassingly aware of the shouting and bleeped out cursing that was currently screeching through her speaker system...and the fact that she was currently wearing a pair of Peter Alexander flannel pyjamas with dash hounds covering it, a fluffy pink dressing gown, and a pair of fleecy pink bed socks. Oh, and it was only just six thirty on a Saturday night. Thank God she had bothered to blow dry her hair and wasn't lounging around with her face mask still on, like something out of a rom-com Molly would have watched. Thirty one years old, already living the life of a widowed seventy year old. The silence that followed her pausing the video, right in the middle of a close-up shot of one of the yelling ladies screaming and jabbing her finger at another woman across the table from her, was awkward and a little lengthy. Amelia stared at Sherlock, slowly lowering the remote, and he looked back at her, eyebrows lifted very slightly.

"Yes, Sherlock?" she cleared her throat, refusing to let him make her feel embarrassed about the state he found her in, in her own flat, no less.

Eyebrows still quirked very slightly, Sherlock gave her a very obvious once over, and once again, Amelia had to fight against the urge to feel embarrassed, settling on giving him a cool, challenging glare in return. Go on, just comment on it, Holmes, she'd seen him plenty of times in nothing but a bed sheet at all hours of the day or night. It had startled her at first, but had she remarked on it? Not once.

"Get dressed, Amelia," he told her, and she frowned at him, "We're going out".

"Um, yeah, no," she immediately shook her head, her frown deepening and her arms crossing across her chest, "I'm not going out...not unless Lestrade phoned and we've got a case?" she fixed him with a pointed look.

Sherlock merely gave her a flat look, "We have tickets to the theatre," he informed her.

That...was not what she had expected, and for a moment Amelia could only blink, positive she had misheard that. Tickets to the theatre? Since when?

"Excuse me?" she questioned, very slightly incredulous with the idea.

He shrugged lightly, though his eyes narrowed very slightly, "Tickets, Amelia," he repeated, slightly more clearly and with a hint of irritation lacing his voice, "To the theatre. It's called 'Terror by Night,' some sort of mystery production. It's opening night tonight".

"And..." she eyed him, slightly suspicious, but mostly just downright confused, because she simply couldn't comprehend the idea that Sherlock, of all people, wanted to go see a mystery play, let alone that he randomly decided to take her along with him, "You bought a ticket for me?"

"I was given the tickets, actually. I happen to know the theatre owner..."

She laughed very slightly and he trailed off, giving her a slightly guarded frown. She shook her head, smiling, amused, "Of course you do, Sherlock," she said lightly, still smiling with amusement as she looked back up to him, sighing slightly, almost warily, "So, let me guess, they gave you a couple of tickets, which I'm sure they do for every opening night they have, largely out of politeness, and you've suddenly decided that tonight you actually want to attend and, for whatever reason, you're dragging me along with you," her smile grew slightly thinner, her eyebrows raised, "How did I do?"

Sherlock gave her a slight frown, almost looking very slightly sulky, "Astonishingly well," he replied, tone blank of emotion, though he seemed almost disappointed, but it was only a brief flash, before he was fixing her with her look, "And, if you must know, it's the first time they've hosted a mystery production. I assumed, that given your fondness for Agatha Christie, you may find it enjoyable," he rolled his eyes slightly, when she gave him a startled look, and shook his head, "More enjoyable then Mrs Hudson, in any case".

"Oh," was all she managed for a moment, truly taken aback by how thoughtful he had been. It was quite true, Amelia did love a mystery novel or TV show, and Agatha Christie was one of her all time favourite authors, the fact that Sherlock had not only remembered that, but had considered it, was rather shocking to her. She slowly began to smile, a true, almost pleased little smile, glancing back up to Sherlock, who was watching her with a very slight glare, "Well, Sherlock, I'm very touched you even considered me..."

"Don't be," he cut her off swiftly, dismissively.

"Why not?" her smile grew wider, almost teasing, "I'm amazed you even remembered that I liked Agatha Christie, I would have thought you would have 'Deleted' such a useless, trivial detail from your mind".

"An oversight, apparently".

She laughed, she just couldn't help it, his dry, flat tone of voice and the annoyed glare that he had pinned directly on her, just made her giggle. He wasn't fooling her, Sherlock could claim it all he liked, play it off all he liked, but she knew that he had purposely come to her, of all people, and presented her with these tickets, not merely because she was about the only one that he knew that might like to see the play. Sherlock might like to consider himself to be a creature of isolation, but Amelia knew that he rather enjoyed having company, and apparently he wished for company tonight while attending the theatre, which she could understand. She never went to the theatre these days, she used to, when she had been back on the dating scene, but there was just something about going to see a play or even a movie in the cinema by yourself that she just didn't like, and she wouldn't considered herself to be the most social creature, either. Apparently, Sherlock felt the same; though he'd likely rather throw himself out of the window then admit to it.

"Oh, I'm sure it was, Sherlock," she agreed through laughter, ignoring the increasing look of annoyance upon his sharp features, smirking knowingly at him.

He sighed, loudly and a little dramatically, and made a show of checking his wrist watch, "We need to be at the theatre by seven thirty," he informed her, tone crisp and swift, and seemingly utterly confident, "Curtin goes up at eight".

Amelia's smirk grew a touch cooler, "I never said I was going, Sherlock," she reminded him, a touch sharply, allowing a hint of her own annoyance to lace her words, "It may shock you, but I actually planned to stay in tonight," she grabbed pointedly at the front of her pyjama shirt and his eyes immediately followed the gesture...a flash of something like amusement filled his eyes, before it was gone. She ignored it, instead giving him a slightly sarcastic look, "Do I look dressed for a night out to you?"

"Considering some of the outfit choices you have worn, Amelia, this..." he waved a pale hand towards her clothing, his expression blank of emotion, "...is one of the better ones".

She glared at him, mock indignant and crossed her arms firmly back over her chest, "You take that back," she hissed warningly, "You can say whatever you want about me, but you leave my clothing out of it, if you know what's good for you".

His lips quirked up at the edges, "Then, I suggest you get dressed, Amelia," he said smoothly, though amusement flickered in his eyes, his eyes lingering on the little dash hounds dotted all over the light blue fabric, "And quickly. I'm starting to fear that I'll never be able to take you seriously again after witnessing...this outfit," he purposely let his eyes roam over her clothing.

"Did you ever take me seriously to begin with?" she asked him, only half-joking. She knew that he did respect her, to a degree. She had proven her intelligence and usefulness to him, and he wouldn't keep her around if he didn't, but that didn't mean that she had fully gained all of his respect, she knew that. Sherlock was not the kind of man to give that sort of thing lightly, and their previous relationship had been strained largely.

Sherlock looked briefly thrown by that, before his expression cleared and he seemed to regard her closely, seemingly weighing up just how serious she was being, before he lightly shrugged and gave her a lazy, cool smirk.

"I suppose we'll never know for sure," he said with a hint of sarcasm, "It's hard to truly ever overlook someone who willingly wears fluffy pink bathrobes and dog printed pyjamas".

"They're Peter Alexander," she huffed slightly, sniffing and looking away from him haughtily, "The dash hound is their symbol, I'll have you know".

"Fascinating. Get dressed, or wear the doggie pyjamas and bathrobe, just do it quickly".

"I still haven't agreed to anything, Holmes".

"For God's sake," he groaned very slightly, rolling his eyes in frustration and annoyance, and she narrowed her eyes defiantly back at him. He looked at her with a flat glare, "Is this..." he waved another pale, agitated hand to her and around the room, eyebrows furring in slight disbelief and mocking, "...really how you're intending to spend your evening Amelia?"

She bristled at that and firmly crossed her arms across her chest, not caring if she likely made herself only look like a child, "What the hell's wrong with spending a night in like this, Sherlock?" she demanded, throwing him a rather accusing glare right back at him, her gaze pointed, "It's hardly any different from how you spend your evenings between cases, so don't even try and get judgmental with me!"

And there was nothing wrong with taking a little bit of girly, self-care time to herself and indulging in additive, if trashy reality TV in her pyjamas on a Saturday night. Most people would kill for the chance to do this, quite frankly Amelia was bloody well enjoying herself and as embarrassing as it was that Sherlock had swanned in and caught her like this, she was happy. There was nothing wrong with enjoying your own company and just doing your own thing for an evening, she wouldn't apologise for it or be made to feel guilty.

"I'm not a thirty one year old ex-party girl, Amelia. What would your twenty year old self say?"

Amelia couldn't help staring at him very slightly in shock, the look of mock disappointment and slight shake of his head, while his gaze remained level on her, hardly failing to produce any hint of guilt or embarrassment from her, though she suspected that was meant to be the idea. Her lips parted very slightly, but no sound left her lips, unable to quite believe just what lengths Sherlock Holmes, of all people, was seemingly going to just to try and get her to come out with him to see a theatre production with him. If it was any other man, aside from Lestrade and John, she might have suspected that he was trying to ask her out on a date, in a rather odd manner, to be fair, but what straight, single man went to such efforts to get a straight, single women out of her flat with him? But...this was Sherlock, sure, she had a fair idea that he was at the very least a little attracted towards her, in his own way, she did notice that he tended to spare her at least a quick once over glance when she arrived in his flat in his flat in the mornings, but there was no other indication that Sherlock actually had a crush on her or feelings, so she doubted it was anything like that.

Still, this was bloody weird.

"You really want me to come out with you tonight, don't you?" she said slowly, gazing up at Holmes with a slight frown crossing her face.

Sherlock instantly narrowed his eyes and straightened his shoulders, "It makes little difference to me, what you do, Amelia..." he tried to tell her, the picture of indifference.

Amelia rolled her eyes and gave him a look, "Sherlock," she cut across him, "Do you want me to come out with you tonight or what?"

He sniffed and looked away from her, "As I said, it's really not for me to say, it would be something of a waste..."

"Yes or no, Sherlock".

He paused and seemed to briefly glare at one of her abstract painters that she had hanging on the wall over her dining table, his lips briefly thinning and his jaw clenching...he almost looked a little sour, as if someone had just stuffed a lemon into his mouth, before he suddenly inhaled sharply through his nose and made a slight annoyed noise in the back of his throat. He rolled his eyes up towards the ceiling, releasing the breath through his lips.

"Yes".

Amelia smirked very slightly and briefly lowered her eyes onto her lap, knowing that if she pushed any more he would swiftly backtrack and, truth be told, she was rather intrigued to know why Sherlock wanted her to come out with him so desperately, and desperate, he must surely be for him to actually admit that, yes, he did want her to come out with him. Again, a small voice whispered that maybe Sherlock had a bit of a thing for her, but she quickly scoffed at that and shoved it away, because there was no way and, as handsome as she might find Sherlock and as interesting, she wasn't going to bother to entertain that madness for a moment. No way. Instead, she schooled her features in a pleased smile and looked back up to Sherlock, who still looked rather disgruntled, and gave him a nod.

"Alright," she said lightly, "Give me an hour to get ready..."

"Twenty minutes," he interrupted her, tone sharp.

She scoffed, loudly, "Forty minutes, at least," she insisted firmly, levelling him with an almost threatening glare, "Or no go".

He glared at her with such annoyance that she truly did think for a second that he might just throw his hands up and tell her to forget about it all, but then his lips pressed into a tight line and he gave her a single, short nod of agreement and turned sharply on his heel of his dress shoes, positively striding out of her flat with his coat flapping dramatically about him. She tried hard not to laugh, but she couldn't help the slightly bemused grin that crossed her lips. She didn't understand what the hell had happened just now, but she was going to go along with it, for now. Hell, it could be fun.

...

Amelia was annoyed and as usual, Sherlock Holmes was totally at fault. Off to the theatre he had told her, opening night tickets, he had mentioned, what he had completely failed to also add, was the fact that this was just some average, low key little theatre that wasn't even on the main street, but hidden away within a small theatre tucked away in one of London's side streets and with barely enough room for more than eighty audience members to sit and watch the show. To be fair, she had to admit that she had foolishly not asked for further details on just where Holmes was dragging her, she had just assumed it would be somewhere relatively grand. Her choice in wardrobe for the evening reflected that assumption, hence her annoyance.

What woman would willingly stick a pair of silicon bra cups on for anything less than a theatre designed for one hundred plus guests? Apparently, tonight, Amelia Wilson would. The gown she had picked out had been a dress she had worn a couple of years back to some evening event and it was most assuredly far more bold then she would have picked, had she known what Sherlock's idea of the theatre actually meant, a backless number made from layers and layers of tulle fabric, with a deep V-neckline and black floral beading decorating the black tulle bodice that clung tightly against her skin, before the layers of tulle changed to a deep plum colour and flared out around her legs as it fell into the skirt of the dress, falling to mid-calf. Her heels matched the plum colour of the skirting, platformed with a strap over the toes and then another that went around the ankle, a little bit of gold metal wrapping around the heel of the shoe. It was a cool evening, so she had draped a soft, faux fur black bolero jacket over her shoulders to keep warm. She had kept her eye shadow in the same plum tones as the dress and lined her eyes with black liner, while her lips were painted her custom deep red.

She looked beautiful and she felt it, but she also stood out shockingly as she stood outside the rather nondescript door of the theatre, held open wide while a rather bored looking girl in her late teens stood outside on the top step, wearing just a pair of jeans and a black jacket, casually and rather ideally checking peoples tickets as they passed through the door and into the theatre. And every single person that Amelia could see walking through those doors were dressed in hardly anything that she would have thought good enough to interview clients in, let alone spend an evening out in. She turned her head sharply to fix Sherlock with a sharp, narrowed eyed glare, her sleek, high ponytail whooshing around to drape over her shoulder, while her pink and plum coloured drop earrings swung at the gesture.

"A mention of what the dress code was like would have been nice, Sherlock," she hissed to the curly haired man, who was calmly tucking his wallet back inside his pocket, while their cab that they had just climbed out of pulled easily away from the footpath behind them and back off into the slightly more quiet street.

It was mostly a lot of clothing stores and cafes along this street, a street that would come alive by eight in the morning, but was basically a ghost town any time after six in the evening, like right now. The street over from them was full of the bustle of restaurants and even a few clubs, and Amelia had expected that any theatre they might attend tonight would find itself amidst that sort of area, not this street. Once again, she felt her annoyance spike, though she wasn't entirely sure who she was more annoyed with, Sherlock or herself? She had really kind of brought this upon herself...

Sherlock's eyebrows rose very slightly and he cast her a glance, "I did say before we left that we weren't going to a ball, Amelia," he said lightly, seemingly only half-listening.

She rolled her eyes slightly, "You might have mentioned just exactly how low-key this place was," she tried to explain, exasperation seeping into her tone and a slight sigh slipping through her painted lips, "I would have...worn jeans and a nice blouse, rather then...this," she huffed slightly and gestured down at her front, his eyes immediately following the wave of her hand and lingering briefly, though she was slightly to irritated to notice overly much, "I look ridiculous".

He turned his head away from her and narrowed his eyes very slightly on the open door of the theatre, seemingly observing a middle aged couple climb the short three steps up to the door, the man showing his ticket to the girl standing by the door...she hardly seemed to glance at the ticket before she nodded them through the door, blowing a large bubble of pink bubblegum from her lips as she did so.

"Ridiculous is not the word I would use, Amelia".

Amelia opened her mouth to continue her complaints, only to pause, blinking very slightly and her head turning sharply back towards him...his tone was, once again, light and airy, but there was something else in it that gave her pause. She frowned as she carefully eyed the side of his face, which was carefully turned away from her and seemed the picture of indifference and apathy, and she just knew that he had no intention of explaining himself, even though she was kind of dying to know just what he actually meant by that remark. His voice was curiously soft when he had spoken, lacking any humour or teasing, so he hadn't been making yet another sarcastic remark about her outfit choice, as he typically did, she might almost say he sounded serious.

"What word would you use, Sherlock?" she asked curiously, regarding him with a slight eyebrow raised.

In typical Sherlock fashion, he instead began striding forward towards the stairs, and Amelia turned slightly on the spot to watch him go, suspicion and curiosity still lingering in her features, before she sighed and shook her head, deciding that it really wasn't worth it. She followed after him, ignoring the slightly wide eyed looks she was getting off a pair of elderly women in thick knitted coats and little hats as they approached the stairs, too, looking her dress up and down...okay, it was a little on the bold side, but it wasn't that scandals. She'd worn this dress to a charity auction for sick kids ages ago and she hadn't gotten side eyed like this for wearing it, she wasn't going to be judged for it now. She stepped up onto the step just below Sherlock and the ticket girl, Sherlock flashing a pair of tickets towards the girl.

The girl glanced at them and, looking increasingly bored, reached out and grabbed the tickets, snapping them in half and dropping one half into a little metal tin she had sitting on a small, rickety looking table beside her, bits of other ticket stubs sticking out from the metal slit of the tin. Amelia tried hard not to let the girl's chewing get on her already slightly frayed nerves, but it was an effort.

"Have a nice evening," the girl said in the flattest tone possible, even somehow managing to beat Sherlock in the boredom department.

Sherlock took back the ticket stubs that was handed back to him and turned very slightly to offer one to Amelia, who took it and slipped it into the plum coloured handbag she had hanging off her shoulder, before following the taller man inside the theatre. It was just as small inside as she had expected, smelling of dust and something old, but as Amelia peered around the foyer, which had a small ticket box area just a few steps into the room for people to purchase late tickets for the show, she was pleased to find that it was all rather clean. The carpet was old and at least two decades out of fashion with an odd swirling design and obnoxious red colour, while the walls had been painted a similar shade red. A few wooden chairs were sat out along the walls of the foyer, probably used during intermissions for people, while a fake, dusty looking house plant in a green pot sat in the corner of the room, just below a sign that directed patrons to the men and ladies bathrooms down a gloomily lit hallway. Amelia decided very quickly at the sight of that hallway that she had no intention of going to the bathrooms here tonight.

A set of large wooden doors had been left propped open between a couple of the chairs, and Sherlock immediately made his way for the doors, Amelia trailing behind him, feeling all the more out of place in her dress in the rather modest, old fashioned room, her slight embarrassment at her outfit choice only growing as she stepped into the actual theatre hall. It was a little larger then she had first anticipated, making a quick judgment that it could likely fit at least closer to a hundred guests, after all. The lighting was dim and sparse, largely coming from old fashioned wall sconces that looked like something out of the eighties, all gold gilding and oversized. Rows and rows of red cushioned padded seats were set up in the very middle of the room, leaving space for at least two people to move easily along the sides of the room, leading directly down towards the stage itself.

The thick, slightly faded looking red velvet curtain was still pulled across the front of the wooden stage, while large lights had been set up in the ceiling and directed towards the stage, big, black speakers dotted throughout the rest of the theatre, too, contrasting against the otherwise rundown furnishings of the place. Along the left side of the stage, a set of three stairs ran up onto the stage, and Amelia eyed them very slightly warily, even as she followed Sherlock still deeper into the room, other guests already starting to take their seats around the room. She dearly hoped this wasn't a show that had any sort of audience participation involved, she would truly have to consider throttling Sherlock if that was the case, since she had basically ensured that she was going to stick out to anyone on the stage to be able to see easily. She shot Sherlock a glance, narrowing her eyes. Yes, strangling him was feeling pretty tempting...

Sherlock paused after less than four steps and Amelia, caught off guard, very nearly walked straight into him, the man forced to reach out and grasp her upper arm to stop her from doing just that, his grasp gentle and a slight eye roll aimed at her as she blinked and looked up to him questioningly. He dropped his hand from her arm and made a gesture towards the back row.

"You first," he said lightly, oddly politely, too.

"Thank you," Amelia said quietly as she moved to carefully slip into the back row, edging up a seat, knowing that he would likely prefer to take the aisle seat, rather than find himself stuck sitting beside anyone. She took her seat and he took the one beside her, while the room around them slowly continued to fill up with more people, the air filled the fluttering voices of others. She sighed slightly as she sat back against the seat, it was comfortable, but the air was cooler then she would have liked and she already felt goose bumps erupt over her skin. She resisted the urge to shiver and leaned slightly sideways towards Sherlock, "How long is this play supposed to go for?"

He tilted his head slightly towards her, in return, his right arm braced on the hard, slightly scratched wooden surface of the armrest between them, his arm pressing up against hers, "About two hours," he replied, and she bit back a groan.

"Two hours?" she shook her head, keeping her voice low and therefore forced to lean closer towards him. His lips lifted into a small smirk and she frowned at him, "Why do I get the impression you're enjoying this whole night way more than I am, Sherlock?"

"I thought you were a fan of the theatre, Amelia?" he said innocently, lifting his eyebrows at her, his head now turned to face her directly...it brought their faces just a few inches apart.

"It's cold and I'm wearing this ridiculous dress that's shockingly not very conducive to warmth, any theatre lover would be a little anxious about just how long they might have to endure that, Sherlock".

His smirk flashed at her again and amusement flickered through his eyes at her exasperated tone, his eyes briefly dropping back down to her dress...he rolled his eyes, then, and something close to genuine amusement crossed his face. He moved to stand from his seat and Amelia, startled, could only stare at him as he easily slipped his coat off and moved to sit back down, practically dropping the heavy, woollen coat directly into her lap. He calmly ignored her slightly wide eyed stare to unbutton his blazer buttons with a flick of his wrist.

"There," he said without glancing at her, "Happy?"

Amelia licked her lips and tasted her lipstick, reaching down to gather up his coat, which was still so lovely and warm from his body heat. She thought about wrapping it around herself, but decided that she would just use it as a makeshift blanket, folding it over her legs, instantly feeling a difference just from having it. She glanced back to Sherlock to see him looking rather boredly around the room, though his gaze was sharp and calculating as it shifted between the other patrons, the room steadily growing fuller. She smiled very slightly, oddly feeling almost touched by the simple gesture, one that was purely done for the sake of her comfort...and possibly because he didn't want to hear her whinge any longer.

"Thank you, Sherlock," she said sincerely, watching his face. His eyes flickered away from where he had been eyeing a tall man a few seats ahead of them to look at her, his expression clear of any emotion, "Lending me your coat..." her tone grew a touch teasing and her smile shifted into a smirk, "...how very gallant of you".

"Repeat it to anyone, Amelia, and I will deny it".

She laughed at the serious look he fixed her with, even though his gaze glinted with something almost close to amusement and playfulness. She mockingly held up her hands in surrender and gave him an innocent look, though it barely held up for longer than five seconds before her grin returned and she lowered her hands, looking away from him. From the corner of her eye she could see his mouth curve upwards into a proper little smile, before he looked away, too. It felt nice, even though she was cold, even though she felt so silly in her dress, at least she and Sherlock were actually getting along and having a good time with each other.

They lapsed into a comfortable silence between them and Amelia turned her own attention onto the others around them, observing and contemplating them and their lives, their secrets and quirks, while in turn no one else seemed overly concerned about sparing them much notice, Sherlock's coat seemingly helping to disguise Amelia's dress from view, yet another thing she supposed she probably should have included in her 'Thank you' to him. Ten minutes rolled by fairly fast and before she knew it, the last few seats were filled and the double doors of the theatre were being gently closed, the chatter dying out. The lights of the room slowly began to dim, before the room was sent into darkness and then the bright lights that sat aimed towards the stage flared into light and the a low, dramatic rumbling musical note filled the air, just as the thick stage curtain opened of its seemingly own accord.

The set was simple in design, not that Amelia had expected anything else, with a rather old looking red velvet fainting couch sitting in the middle of the stage, while a fake backdrop of what she assumed was supposed to look like a grand old living room filled the space. The play was at least fairly quick to get into the swing of things, starting off with introducing the characters. There was 'Jade the maid,' who was largely seemingly written to play the role of the screaming female character who happened to stumble across the murder victim, who was a character called 'Lady Margaret Chaplette'. Then there was the so called 'Murderer,' or the one that Amelia suspected was most likely supposed to be the killer, 'Albert Chaplette,' the lady of the houses very own son. Then there was the romantic plot that laced through the undertones of the play, the pretty female lead being 'Sissy Hastings' and her brother, 'Cedric Hastings'. And then, finally, the main man and 'Sissy Hastings' love interest, 'Detective Sidney Page,' who seemed to be designed to embody the stereotypical detective that everyone thought of.

The plot was rather simple and Amelia couldn't say she was overly enthralled by it, nor did she suspect that Sherlock was, either, but they both sat through the first act patiently. There was a few decent jokes littered throughout and while the whole romance subplot felt rather forced and dull, it wasn't awful, like she had feared. At the end of the first act and just as the 'Detective' and 'Sissy' found themselves seemingly about to share a rather touching moment in the library of the house, the actors on stage seemed to freeze, staring into each other's eyes with rather sappy, sickening expressions plastid to their well-made up faces, just as the curtain fell across the stage and the lights of the room came back into life.

Amelia took the chance to stretch her legs and, reluctantly, decided that she would have to visit the bathroom, after all, waiting a good five minutes in line outside the ladies bathroom, before getting the chance to go in herself. She mainly just wanted to check her makeup, which only needed a slight touch up from having spent the last ten minutes of the show leaning her chin on her palm and trying hard not to yawn, before she slipped outside and caught up with Sherlock, returning to their seats.

The second act picked up immediately after the first had finished, only there was no kiss and, shockingly, 'Albert Chaplette' stumbled into the room just before anything could happen and 'Sissy,' now engaged to him, quickly pretended as if nothing had happened, even though it was obvious to all that it had. Sherlock made a rather disgusted noise in the back of his throat and Amelia, struggling not to roll her eyes herself, very lightly nudged his arm with her elbow. And so the play continued, seemingly going around in circles about who the killer was, littered with more little moments between 'Sissy' and the 'Detective'.

"Dear God," Sherlock moaned under his breath, just as 'Sissy' had a near miss on the stairs and the 'Detective' bravely stepped in and managed to swiftly save her from harm, cradling one another, while 'Albert' watched on with a furious, jealous glare from the shadows. He shook his head, almost seeming pained, "How much longer?"

"Shh," Amelia hushed him, though she was trying hard not to laugh, feeling quite inclined to agree with him. She leaned closer to him to whisper in his ear, "I thought you were so keen on seeing this play, Sherlock?"

Even in the semi-darkness that they sat in, Amelia could see his narrowed eyes fix on her, his head turning only just slightly, and she grinned to herself and leaned back into her own seat. The play went on for another fifteen minutes, until it finally seemed as if it was starting to be wrapped up. The 'Detective' had all of the characters gathered together on the stage and, in almost a cheap rip-off of an Agatha Christie novel, began explaining to the gathered cast and the audience all that he had learned that related to the murder...Amelia couldn't bring herself to even try and feel any real interest, just rather looking forward to the bloody 'Murderer' being revealed so that she could finally go home and take this dress off. She couldn't even rouse much interest when the 'Detective' finally turned and dramatically revealed that it was 'Albert Chaplette' this whole time, the man in question angrily denying the accusation to the gasps of the other cast members on stage...

"I would never!" 'Albert' denied strongly, though his words carried a slur to them that had only grown more evident since the intermission. Amelia sighed slightly to herself...was no one backstage in anyway alarmed by the fact that they were sending out an obviously half-drunk actor onto the stage, or were they just hoping to pretend it wasn't happening and that no one would notice?

"And yet, you did, sir!" the 'Detective' insisted forcefully, and pointed firmly towards the other man, who almost seemed to be leaning slightly, "You murdered your own mother, all because you had come to learn that she intended to disinherit you from her will! I spoke to the lawyer, sir, the proof is undeniable! You killed her".

The ladies of the cast all gasped dramatically and 'Sissy' clutched at her pearl necklace faintly, but 'Albert,' seemingly spiralling into a fit of rage, gave a great cry of 'No!' and suddenly raised his crutch, which his character had used since his near death experience during the War, and lunged towards the 'Detective,' swinging the prop up into the air and bringing it down over the Detective's head...the other man instantly crumpled onto the stage floor with a loud, sickening noise and remained still...

Amelia's eyes widened, her eyes fixing upon the still partly raised crutch as a trail of blood began dripping off the metal. It hadn't bent and there was no way that a simple, modest theatre production like this would have been able to make fake blood just appear like that on cue. Her heart dropped into her stomach and she felt briefly sickened.

This wasn't just an act anymore. This was real.

I mean, of course Amelia would hear the word 'Theatre' and assume it was something like opening night at Albert Hall, so naturally I had to dress her up...plus, I've yet to have an excuse to put her into a gown, so I just had to do it. Hopefully, I'm not going to get this entire one-shot messed up with all the different names, so I apologise in advance if I do. Also, did you guys know they've taken down John's blog?! I'm so upset! I've had to get rather creative with my source material to write this, so I apologise if it's not entirely accurate to the original blog post, if you do remember it. I'm going off memory and what little I've tracked down on the web here.

I do hope you guys enjoyed and Amelia's outfit will be on my Tumblr. Tell me what you think, please review :)