Brilliant {A BBC Sherlock Fanfic}

Chapter Six: Fighting For Attention -revised-

"Sofa, Sherlock. It was the sofa." Mycroft corrected without looking at John, checking his pocket watch. Amelia snorted, nearly falling off the armrest of Sherlock's chair, a spot she had now claimed for her own. "Amelia, are you...alright?" Mycroft wasn't quite sure what he was supposed to say in this situation.

She guffawed, wiping tears from her eyes. "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine." she laughed, leaning into Sherlock's shoulder for support. She hid her face in the fabric of his purple cotton shirt, while John stood by and blushed.

"Oh, yes." Sherlock said, patting Amelia's back in an attempt to calm her. "Of course."

"How...? Never mind." John said incredulously, shaking his head as he sat down on the coffee table.

Mycroft smiled at him, "Sherlock's business seems to be booming since you and him became...pals." Sherlock shot him a threatening look but Mycroft continued on. "What's he like to live with? Hellish, I imagine."

"I'm never bored." John replied simply.

"Good," Mycroft said as if he were speaking to a child, forcing the lie out from between his teeth. "That's good, isn't it?" This time both Amelia and Sherlock glared at him. Mycroft stood up and grabbed a file off the table beside him, offering it to Amelia and Sherlock who stubbornly refused it. Mycroft grimaced, handing it to John instead. "Andrew West, known as Westie to his friends." John took the folder, startled. "A civil servant, found dead on the on the tracks at Battersea Station this morning."

"Jumped in front of the train?" John guessed, glaring at his sister when she snorted at his stupidity.

"Seems like the logical explanation." Mycroft said.

"But...?" John prompted.

"But?" said Mycroft in confusion.

"Well, you wouldn't be here if it was an accident." Amelia snapped, flicking Sherlock's forehead as he showed her how to apply rosin to the bow...again. "Would you, Miley?" She smiled at Mycroft, using her old nickname for him.

"If you're even half as clever as you think you're are, why can you not pronounce my entire full name?" Mycroft sighed. "Is it really that difficult?"

Sherlock snorted.

"The MOD," Mycroft began, "is working on a new missile defence system-the Bruce-Partington Programme, it's called." He looked at Sherlock and Amelia while John leafed through the file. "The plans were on a memory stick."

Amelia sniggered, "Because that's always the safest and best place to keep a missile plan." She said sarcastically. "Did I tell you to transfer it to a hard copy?"

"That wasn't very clever." John added.

Mycroft shot the Watsons a glare. "It's not the only copy. Believe it or not, Ms. Watson, I do appreciate your advice."

"Oh." John said, blushing in embarrassment while Amelia rolled her eyes.

"But it is secret. And missing." Amelia pointed out.

"Top secret?" John questioned.

"Very." Mycroft confirmed with a sharp nod. "We think West must have taken the memory stick. We can't possibly risk it falling into the wrong hands." He turned back to Amelia and Sherlock. "You've got to find those plans, Sherlock. Don't make me order you."

Sherlock inhaled sharply, narrowing his eyes defiantly, his nostrils flaring. He raised his violin in preparation to play, "I'd like to see you try." He said in a low, warning voice.

Mycroft bent over, looking Sherlock in the eyes. "Think it over." He said, Sherlock staring back at him lazily. Mycroft gave a short nod to Amelia, one she didn't return, and shook John's hand. "Goodbye, John. See you very soon."