Valiant {Book Two of the Incandescent Trilogy}

Chapter One: So It Begins

"It was massive!" Andrew said, gesturing to demonstrate exactly how long the snake had been, nearly knocking over Amelia's water in the process. "You English wouldn't've had the living daylights scared out of ya." He shook his head, "Well, I suppose, that's the Outback for ya."

Amelia leaned forward, the heel of her hand bracing her chin. "Oh? And what'd you do?"

"I threw that accursed bastard as far as possible, an' I ran away as fast I could." Andrew said.

The brunette did laugh that time, and for the first time since The Fall, Amelia was enjoying herself. "How long have you been in London, then?" she asked with a tilt of her head.

"Oh, not long." Andrew said, readjusting the breast pocket of his jacket so it was straight. "Probably about a few months."

"And how long are you staying?"

"Dunno yet." Andrew said with a shrug, then fixed the pocket immediately after. "Depends if I have any reason to stay."

"What exactly qualifies as a reason to stay?"

"Oh, y'know." Andrew leaned back in his chair, and Amelia could barely see the outline of a small rectangular object in the breast pocket-the very pocket he had been constantly readjusted. She wondered if it was a packet of cigarettes. "My job, finding a good flat...pretty girls." He winked at her.

Amelia nodded, forcing the blush creeping its way up her neck back down. "Do you have any smokes? I'm gasping." she asked him. She wasn't really-she'd quite a long time ago, but the information on what exactly Andrew was hiding in his pocket was paramount.

"'Fraid not, sorry." Andrew pulled an apologetic face.

Her warnings were going off left, right, and centre, now. Amelia licked her drying lips, and took a sip of her water. "It's fine. Thanks anyway."

Andrew jabbed his thumb towards one of the restaurant's staff. "I can go ask...?"

"No, no, don't worry about it."

He smiled at her. "Right, then. I'm going to head to the loo, and wash my hands. Can I trust you with my jacket?"

Oh, this was almost too easy. Amelia nearly felt disappointed. She forced a winning smile to her face. "Of course you can."

"Thank you." Andrew said, shrugging off his coat. He draped it over the back of his chair, and wandered off in search of the bathroom, whistling a tune under his breath.

Amelia wasted no time in diving towards Andrew's coat, her far-too-high heels causing her to stumble in the process. She took them off, and cast them aside, vowing to herself to never let Mycroft pick her outfit again. Even if she did owe him for letting her stay with him even after her recovery. And while Mycroft was certainly not an easy housemate, he was definitely easier to deal with than Sherlock was.

She shook that thought out of her head, not wanting to waste time. She had five minutes at the most, and she'd already wasted three thinking. Glancing around to make sure no one was watching, Amelia opened the pocket, fighting the urge to break something when she saw what was inside. For in her hands, she held a tape recorder, its bright red light flashing at her.

"Oh God, you weren't supposed to see that." Andrew said as he returned to the table, seeing the tape recorder Amelia had now placed on his plate.

"Who are you?" she demanded, her eyebrows raised but entirely calm; her placidity was more frightening than her ferocity. Her fingers steadily drummed against the table, her head tilted to the side as she regarded him with care.

"I told you that already."

"Who are you actually?" Amelia said, voice lacking all amusement. "A Sherlock fanatic? Or are you part of Anderson's little fan-boy club?" She gestured with one hand down towards the voice recorder. "Although judging by that, I don't think you fit into either of those, so, pray tell, just who are you?"

Andrew went to sit down, pulling out his chair, but Amelia quickly dragging it back in, curving her foot around the leg, and yanking it towards her.

"I don't think so, do you?" Amelia said with a small shake of her head. "Now, would you care to explain exactly what you were doing with this?"

"I'm a reporter." Andrew said. "I heard that Molly was friends with the infamous Amelia Watson-Holmes, I asked her to set us up."

"Why?" Amelia said, and save for the muscle twitching in her jaw, she still seemed calm about the subject.

"Well, you were close to Sherlock Holmes, yeah? And-"

Without a second warning, Amelia picked up her knife, reaching forward, and stabbing it in the recorder. It shattered to pieces under the force of the blade with a loud splintering noise, Andrew letting out an audible gasp at her action.

"You're paying for my food." Amelia said, picking up the navy coat she had borrowed from Molly, shrugging it on, and storming out of the restaurant. "Have a horrible night, Andrew."

"Amelia, wait, please." Andrew called after her, chasing Amelia towards the door. He follower her as she burst into the street, walking off with her hands in fists as she resisted the urge to turn around, and hit the Australian. "I just wanted to ask you some questions!"

She spun around to face him. "You may ask one question, and then I never want to see you again, and it better be interesting."

Andrew sputtered, turning red in the face. He blinked several times, then opened his mouth, and said, "Do you think he's ever coming back? I mean, he's Sherlock. If anyone could come back from the dead, it would be him."

Amelia thought back to earlier that day at the grave. She glanced away for a moment, then met his gaze steadily. She scoffed, turning on her heel, and walked away. "If there's one thing I learnt about Sherlock Holmes is that he will never cease to amaze me," she called over her shoulder.