Angelic Demon

Ignorance

As the car eventually pulled up to 221B, Amelia looked back at her father in confusion, still not understanding why of all people and places, this is where she was being forced to stay. But at this point in the game, even she knew not to question Moriarty's plans. No matter how little sense they seemed to make.

Without a word, Amelia climbed out of the car and grabbed her things, hardly having the effort to unceremoniously welcome herself into the building without bothering to knock. Climbing the stairs, the girl quietly made her way into the flat, setting down her things and avoiding the unsettling look from the detective and his blogger.

"No. Absolutely not," Sherlock protested as Amelia simply rolled her eyes and chuckled weakly at his reaction. "How sweet. You actually think you have a choice."

Sherlock groaned in annoyance, looking over at the window as the car drove away. "I'm a consulting detective. Not a babysitter."

"If you don't want guests stopping by, learn to lock the door," the girl shot back, still not in the best of moods from the rather uncomfortable car ride.

"Perhaps I should start locking the door. After all, it is a little chilly in here. Or is it just your frigid attitude?" Sherlock countered, standing up from his chair and avoiding the teenager in the middle of the living room.

"Perfect, now I have two bitter children to look after instead of one," John piped up, even if he had tried to tune out the two on the edge of an argument. "No offense Amelia, but you're not exactly a treat to watch over. And Sherlock, you're a grown man. Stop arguing with her," the doctor sighed, looking up at the two from the newspaper in his hands.

Amelia opened her mouth to argue, but slowly shut it in momentary surprise of another rather unwanted guest making his way into the flat.

"Mycroft," Sherlock unenthusiastically greeted from the kitchen without even a look.

"Oh, good," the older brother sighed. "She's here." Mycroft didn't even bother to hang up his coat, clearly not intending to stay very long. The girl watched him carefully, only having met him once. 

Mycroft quickly glanced the girl up and down, keeping his eyes focused on her hands before the teenager nervously tucked them behind her back, uncomfortable under his analytical stare. "You've certainly been busy, haven't you?" He observed, watching the muscles in her arm twitched as she secretly tapped out her comforting pattern of threes. But something was different this time, besides the dress which was clearly out of character. Amelia was terribly stiff, and her eyes flickered over to the door, before nervously darting around the room, only being able to focus one thing for a few seconds at a time.

"What do you mean?" Amelia's voice cracked as she spoke, shocking even Mycroft who'd expected one of her typical snarky replies. "How would I have been busy?"

"You know how," the eldest Holmes sighed in disappointment, forgetting how exceptionally slow the girl's brain moved compared to even the lowest of his acquaintances. "You ignored my advice, Miss Moriarty. And now you're paying the price. Or have you not figured it out yet?"

Accepting the fact that he would no longer be getting any work done, John had finally tuned into their conversation with slight concern. As always, it seemed as if he was the only one without a clue what was going on.

"I didn't do anything wrong..." the teenager quietly lied, still keeping her hands behind her back. Besides massacring hoards of people, she thought to herself. She was becoming a terrible liar, with very little persuasion in her pathetic claim. There was still blood caked under her fingernails, and she knew Mycroft and Sherlock had noticed, even if the detective didn't care enough to initially point it out.