Brilliant {A BBC Sherlock Fanfic}

Chapter Three: Apologies, Death Cards, and Metaphors

CHAPTER THREE: APOLOGIES, DEATH CARDS, AND METAPHORS

Amelia collapsed onto the sofa, kicking her feet up onto the table as Sherlock and John stepped into the living room. She pulled out a thick brown envelope from her inner coat and threw it alongside her feet. Sherlock frowned down at it.

"Money. From Mycroft." Amelia clarified, idly examining her cuticles.

"How does she know Mycroft?" John said, catching the last bit of Amelia's words. "How does she even know about Mycroft?" He narrowed his eyes, turning towards his sister. "Are we even talking about the same Mycroft?"

Sherlock untied his scarf, throwing it onto the seat beside Amelia. "It would appear so." He set the kettle on, threw three tea bags into three mismatching mugs, and then returned back to the living room. He leaned down and tore open the envelope, revealing the several bundles of money hidden within. He eyed them warily, and then answered John's questions. "She works with Mycroft, John."

Amelia glared at him.

"She works for him." John repeated slowly, not believing that his sister worked for the British government, let alone Sherlock's brother. Especially since Amelia rarely ever stopped complaining about whoever was prime minister, or whatever was going on in the parliament at the time.

"With him, not for him." Sherlock corrected quickly, pushing Amelia's feet off of the table and starting to divide the money into three separate piles.

"God! You're infuriating! How does anyone put up with you?" Amelia said angrily, letting out a huff before storming to Sherlock's bedroom, slamming the door shut behind her.

"She gets quite offended if you say for." Sherlock watched her as she left, entirely unfazed, then turned back to distributing the money.

John, however, wasn't quite sure how to react, unable to wrap his head around this new revelation. He knew his sister was clever, she'd even gone and attended Cambridge, but he didn't expect her to be smart enough to work with Mycroft. Surely he and Sherlock weren't talking about the same person?

"Ames doesn't work for the government."

"She does, actually. I ran it by Mycroft during the ride back. Amelia Laura Watson, born January 25th 1973, yes? She's been employed to him, or, rather, with him, for mm...three and a half years in May." Sherlock said simply, heading to the kitchen as he realised the kettle had finished boiling. He poured water into two mugs, then hesitated over the third one before proceeding to fill it anyways.

"Christ." John said, running a hand through his greying hair. He blew out a breath, "That's-that's impressive." John could hardly say anything else; working with Mycroft, and not for, was quite a substantial achievement. "And she thinks she's the most boring and ordinary girl on the planet."

Sherlock stirred milk into all three teas absentmindedly, "Both you and I know that's not true." He handed John's mug to him, and grabbed the third one, leaving his own on the table. "Excuse me for a moment."

He walked to his room and knocked on the door. When no response came from the brunette inside, Sherlock set the tea on the floor and pulled out his phone. He'd cashed in on a favour Mycroft had owed him to get information on Amelia, and that information just so happened to contain her number.

I made you tea, however milky it may be. It's outside the door.

-SH

He let out a breath before sending another message.

You have my apologies.

Inside the room, Amelia laughed quietly as the read the message. She waited until she heard Sherlock walk away, and began to quietly talk to John about something or another, before she opened the door. Sure enough, a mug of tea sat in the hallway, practically beckoning her.