Brilliant {A BBC Sherlock Fanfic}

Chapter Sixteen: Appearances Are Everything

CHAPTER SIXTEEN: APPEARANCES ARE EVERYTHING

Amelia gingerly dabbed her open bullet wound with a cloth sodden in rubbing alcohol. She, Sherlock, and John had went after the Golem which had ended in a rather brutal, and difficult, fight. She had escaped with the worst wound out of all of them, receiving a gunshot to the shoulder. Although, that wasn't hard to do as Sherlock had got away with a bruised arm, and John with a twisted ankle. Besides, it was Amelia who had charged at the Golem without a second thought-perhaps it wasn't one of her best ideas.

"Let me help," Sherlock said, taking the cloth from her and wiping her wound clean. He picked up the needle and thread Amelia had prepared, already beginning to stich the cut closed. She let out a small hiss of pain, causing him to smile. "Come on, you can do it. Just a few more stiches."

"Be nice." Amelia snapped. "I took that bullet for you, you big, bumbling, idiot."

"You flatter me." Sherlock said sarcastically. He had noticed that their complicated relationship included a lot of bickering, arguing, and quite violent actions.

For example, yesterday, Amelia had thrown a teacup at Sherlock's head because he had attempted to feed Two human toes to see what they did to his digestive system. Sherlock held back a chuckle, tying off the stitch.

"Damn," Amelia said, frowning down at the stitches. "That's going to leave a mark."

"You act as if you haven't got shot before."

"Doesn't mean it doesn't hurt." Amelia pointed out. She thought for a moment, "Come to think of it: your brother shot me once so he could psychoanalyse my reaction."

"And? What did you do?"

"I looked him dead in the eye, snapped his umbrella over his desk, and then proceeded to remove the bullet with a letter opener." Amelia pulled up the hem of her blood-soaked shirt with her good arm to reveal the fading knot of pink scar tissue. Amelia lowered her shirt, "I think I'm going to go change."

Sherlock said nothing, instead unbuttoning his shirt, and wordlessly handing it to her.

"Then you have to go get a shirt."

"You and I both are well aware of the fact that you were going to 'borrow' one of my shirts, with no intention of ever returning it. I'd much rather you keep this one, rather than a nicer one."

"Always so considerate, Sher."

"Don't you dare call me by that atrocious nickname."

"I think not. I'm rather fond of it." Amelia shrugged off her shirt, wadding it up and placing it in the sink. She pulled on Sherlock shirt, making sure not to smear any of the blood on the white fabric.

"It's rather large on you." Sherlock observed. He took a step towards her, hands hovering over the waistband of her trousers.

"Of course, yes." Amelia said, Sherlock tucking the shirt under her the top of her trousers. "You do realise you've got no shirt on, yeah?"

"Are you complaining? Turn."

Amelia complied. "Oh, yes, horribly so. It's terrible, and utterly scandalous! You couldn't possibly be wander around the flat in such inappropriate attire!" Amelia rolled her eyes.

"They say sarcasm is the lowest form of wit, you know."

"Must be why you're so fond of it."

Amelia could practically feel Sherlock smiling. The detective took a step back, "Much better."

"Since when did you care about appearances?"

"Since I spent my entire childhood with my elder brother who decided that 'appearances are everything'. He expected me to dress as proper as he did."