Brilliant {A BBC Sherlock Fanfic}

Chapter Four: Sherlock Holmes is a Condescending Bastard

CHAPTER FOUR: SHERLOCK HOLMES IS A CONDESCENDING BASTARD

"Bored!" Amelia shouted the next morning, throwing various things she'd found around the flat at the sickly yellow smiley face on the wall that Sherlock had painted before he'd left. She'd driven him to the airport at 2 o'clock in morning using the brand new car-the hell if she knew what brand or make it was-Mycroft had given her as consolation for her belongings taking so long to fly over. She even had the oldest Holmes' assurances it would be here today, flying in on his private jet.

John ran down the stairs, stumbling groggily, rubbing sleep from his eyes. He jumped, startled, as a glass paperweight narrowly missed his head and shattered into pieces on the floor. "What the hell doing you think you are doing?"

"I'm throwing things at the wall, obviously. Sherlock was right, you're horribly unobservant. Especially in the morning." She grimaced at her own words, "Don't tell him I said any of that. We don't need to feed his ego."

John ran a hand through his hair, "Jesus Christ... You're as bad as him."

"I was bored." Amelia said, rolling her eyes. "Sherlock's gone off to Belarus, you were sleeping, Mycroft was sleeping, and even Mrs Hudson was sleeping. I must've been the only one and entirety of London that was still awake." She pursed her lips, "So that might have been a little bit of an exaggeration..."

"A little, yeah." John agreed, exasperated. His gaze was drawn to his sister's bare wrist, where the black ink of her tattoo stood out against her cream coloured skin. "You got a tattoo."

"Why the hell is everybody so obsessed with it? It's just a bloody tattoo." Amelia snapped at her brother.

John could tell there was something more behind the tattoo but he chose not to press any further. "Are you going to eat anything?"

"There's nothing to eat." Amelia said. She clapped her hands together, "What about chips? Do you want to go get some fish and chips, maybe?"

"We're not having fish and chips for breakfast, Ames."

"You might not be, but I sure am." Amelia grabbed Sherlock's coat off of the coat rack, and shrugged it on. It smelled faintly of cigarettes and of dust-of Sherlock.

"That's Sherlock's coat. Put it back."

"He's in Belarus."

"He's Sherlock Holmes. He'll notice." John sighed, knowing that he wasn't going to get through to his sister. "I'm going to go get uh...dressed."

"Yes, please do that. I can't possibly be seen with you at the moment." Amelia said dismissively, taking a seat in Sherlock's chair, drumming her fingers on the armrest impatiently. "We need to buy a third chair." She pulled out her phone and began scrolling through the online Ikea catalogue.

 ♠

Amelia picked up a chip and placed it in her mouth. "Let me explain," she said, holding up a finger and placing it on her brother's lips. John had practically been interrogating her about her job for the past ten minutes. "I didn't tell you what I did for a reason. The less you know about my job and past, the better. Simply being my brother puts you at risk. Knowing about my job puts you at an even higher risk. If I told you everything about myself, you'd probably be shot dead on the spot. Now can you understand why I did what I did?"

John's words failed him. "Yeah, I suppose..." he muttered, taking a drink from his coffee. "Harry and I thought you were dead. You could've sent us something-anything."

"I'm sorry, alright?" Amelia snapped, "I really did want to say something. I wasn't allowed to. Blame Mycroft." Amelia blew out a breath, scratching at her tattoo as she looked out the window. She furrowed her eyebrows as her gaze fell upon a man dressed in a dark coat, face hidden in the shadows of his baseball cap printed that read London in large letters.

Her phone buzzed.

You look beautiful today. How's the fish?

Amelia frowned, glancing at the unknown number. She vaguely recognised the number, but she couldn't quite place her finger on it.

I'm sorry. I think you have the wrong number. -Amelia

Amelia started to tuck away her phone again when she got another message.

Flight comes in at 14:24. Don't be late.

-SH

Wow. Hello to you too, Sherlock. -Amelia

Hello. Yes. Flight comes in at 14:24. Don't be late.

-SH

Amelia rolled her eyes in exasperation and put away her phone. She clasped her hands on the table in front of her, "I've been putting money into your other bank account. Mycroft was supposed to tell you if you ever wanted to move out of 221B. Seems you've gotten rather close to the youngest Holmes, but the money's still there if you ever want it."

"How much money, exactly?"

"Three million US dollars, give or take a few hundred grand."

"Three million dollars?!" John exclaimed in shock, "Christ. You get paid well. Why on Earth are you still looking for a flat? You could afford a mansion!"

"I don't want a mansion." Amelia said around a mouthful of food. "And I have the same problem as Sherlock: there are very few people in this world who would tolerate my behaviour." She licked the oil off her lips. "And, well, I owed Mycroft a favour. He asked me to uh...babysit Sherlock." Amelia glanced at her wristwatch, "Sherlock'll be back in two hours."

"Fantastic." John said sarcastically. "Just when I was getting used to the peace and quiet."

"What peace and quiet? I was throwing things at the wall this morning!" Amelia said rather loudly, earning a few glances her way. Not that she cared what others thought about her. If anything, it was quite the opposite.

She wanted others not to care about her. Not in the same way that Sherlock did, with his constant "sentiment is a disadvantage" ridiculousness, but in sense that sentiment meant that people would get hurt. Sentiment meant that someone would, eventually, be left entirely and utterly alone in this bitter and cruel world.

Sentiment was something she was not going to do again.

Amelia pushed the rest of the food towards her brother, her signature blood red lips tightly pursed. She took out her phone as John dug in, knowing that her brother wasn't going to say anything until he'd finished every last scrap of food.

You don't need to be such a condescending bastard, Sherlock. -Amelia

I'm condescending to everyone. As for bastard, my parents were married when they had me.

-SH

You know that wasn't what I meant, and it still doesn't excuse you. You know you aren't supposed to be on your phone on the plane, right? Not that it affects the navigational systems like they imply. I hypothesise that if everyone on a Jumbo Jet were on their phones streaming videos that it would barely make the navigational systems flicker. -Amelia

Hm... Interesting hypothesis. Perhaps we should test this one day.

-SH

I'd be more than happy to. But you'd have to stop treating me like a child. Like I'm not clever as you are. -Amelia

You aren't.

-SH

Sherlock, I work with your brother, who's worse than you are, and I've managed to keep up with him. You really want to bet that I'm not as clever as you? Perhaps not in the same way, but I am definitely better than you at certain things. -Amelia

Rude.

-SH

Very much so. -Amelia

Amelia smirked, then turned her phone on silent, not letting Sherlock get to her. Oh, she was going to enjoy staying at 221B.