The Invisible Amateur

by Amelia Price

  While he spoke about them Amelia looked at them again, trying to see what he saw, her eyes darting to every feature he mentioned and drinking it in. There might be some hope for her to learn, but he knew his patience would be tried by the attempt.

  “The woman on her own recently miscarried a child. In between throwing bread she occasionally strokes her stomach, which is a shape befitting someone who was pregnant. She hasn't lost all the baby-weight yet and her skin hasn't tightened where it was stretched. Frankly, she could have covered that up better.”

  “It must have been recent, then,” Amelia said. He could hear the sadness in her tone.

  “It was,” he snapped.

  “Sorry, please continue.” She looked outside again.

  “She's married to a soldier and he's not here at the moment. The bag she has the bread in is from a shop on one of the bases, but you're right that this is attached to her childhood. It's not a shop in London. She grew up here and is staying with her parents until her husband is back. She's also left-handed, probably creative. That's harder to tell from this distance.”

  He paused a moment and then looked at the business man Amelia had pointed out. She followed his gaze.

  “He's a lawyer, and did not get a promotion, but he provided a colleague with evidence that won a case. He was too concerned at the start of the conversation for it to have been a possibility without risk. Too young to be a fully fledged lawyer and taking cases of his own, and if he was winning his own case he'd have been in court to find out if he won or not.”

  Mycroft snapped his mouth shut as soon as he'd finished saying the last letter.

  “Wow, that was amazing.” She looked at him with wide-eyed wonder and he blinked in surprise. His anger seemed to have melted off her entirely. “Can I try again?”

  He blinked at her, not quite believing what he was hearing. Most people, when confronted by his anger and disappointment, didn't ask for a second opportunity to make it worse. He nodded and motioned to another man who'd just sat down at the far table.

  This time, as she studied, she flicked her eyes over a lot more, trying to do more than read his body language. It took her longer than it had the first time, but on this occasion when she turned back to him, she had a brighter look and rattled off what she knew without hesitating.

  Once she'd finished speaking, he put down his tea cup and sighed.

  “I missed something?” she asked. Mycroft nodded. “Tell me, please?”

  Amelia looked up at him through her eyelashes, and he had no doubt that the glance normally charmed men into giving her what she wanted. He rolled his eyes and she chuckled.

  “You missed the small item of clothing hiding in his pocket. He didn't go home last night.” Mycroft saw the surprise on her face and felt a small thrill of delight when she whipped her head around to see what he meant. She gasped and looked back to him. He nodded.

  “Practice,” Mycroft said and got up. The meeting had gone on long enough and she'd drawn more attention to both of them than he felt comfortable with. “And keep it discreet.”

  “What about my question?” she asked as he walked away. He smirked but kept going. If she improved, he'd let her ask him another time.

  After walking out of the hotel, Mycroft continued down the block and then around the corner into Portland Square, where his car and Daniels waited.

  “Home, sir?” the chauffeur asked. Mycroft nodded, deep in his own thoughts. Amelia had done as she predicted and amused him. She'd been slow and infuriating at first, but somehow she'd managed to break through his anger and impress him.

  It reminded him of how he'd taught his brother to see the world when they were children. There was a time when Sherlock had been learning from him in the same way she had, and the same way John Watson had learnt from Sherlock all those years ago. Today he'd caught a glimpse of what had existed between John and his brother. The admiration, the desire to learn and understand, and then finally the delight at making progress. She'd bared all her emotions for him to see and it had pleased him.

  On top of that, her appearance had relaxed him. He'd never before seen a woman who would have looked at home in his house. Natural, graceful and with the air of someone who belonged in a time long forgotten, but still here and still very much alive. He knew it didn't mean he loved her. Those sorts of emotions were far from him, and he didn't intend to let them in. He wasn't even sure he respected her; after all, she was still female and prone to emotional irrationality. But his opinion of her had been different this afternoon. There was metal on the inside of her, and with the right persuasion it might be moulded into something he could appreciate.

  Chapter 4

  Amelia exhaled once Myron had left the terrace area. That hadn't been what she'd expected from the man. He was almost impossible to read unless he was angry with her, and that was far too frequent for her liking. No matter how much she tried to be endearing and make the most of the charms and personality she had, he seemed to rebuff her. His interest really did seem fixed on only one thing. Although she hoped her intelligence was up to the task of impressing him, she was starting to wonder if it was. She'd never thought it possible for a human brain to process and remember so much.

  A few of the times she had been with Sebastian, she'd seen him do what Myron had just tried to get her to do, but Myron himself was on another level above. He'd seen information about these people that she wasn't sure Sebastian would even notice, and she'd had the opportunity to have him explain it as well. The whole experience had sent wave after wave of exhilaration and adrenaline through her, even with Myron's evident disgust at her first assessment.

  It hadn't given her an answer to her worried assumption that she was in danger, and the knives nestled against the small of her back had gone entirely unmentioned, but she couldn't be disappointed. They'd had afternoon tea together and she'd had another lesson. It was progress, even if it wasn't as fast as she'd have liked. Being an amateur at anything was always an unpleasant feeling.

  Now that her heart rate was calming down, she realised she had barely touched her drink. After sipping the tea she grimaced. It was cold.

  “Would you like me to bring you a fresh tea?” the waiter asked, noticing her plight. She nodded gratefully and allowed him to take her discarded one.

  It didn't take him long to reappear and place a steaming cup down in front of her.

  “Thank you. Do I pay you here or can you put it on my room bill?” she asked, not sure if Myron would have paid already for the other two.

  “Mr Holmes has taken care of that. One of the perks of owning the hotel.”

  “He owns this hotel?” She sipped her tea and tried not to look too surprised by the information.

  “Yes, although he doesn't like too many people to know. His great-grandfather invested in a few, I believe. Mr Holmes is almost identical to the man.”

  “How do you know?” Her curiosity was piqued, especially as she'd found no pictures of either Holmes boy or any of their family on the internet. They were difficult to track down, and what little research she had managed to do had turned up little but some old fictional stories about a man called Sherlock Holmes who might or might not have also been a person alive at the time they were written.

  By the time she'd left Sebastian's care, gone home and finished her own novel, she'd forgotten the name of the club Myron had been in and the name of the person who'd founded it. Searching for a club founded in London by a Holmes also turned up nothing.

  “There's a picture over the mantelpiece in the main office.”

  “Could I see it?” she asked, not hesitating. It could be the clue she needed.

  “I'm sorry, miss. It's not somewhere I can take a guest.”

  “That's all right. I'm sure I can ask him myself sometime. What's his great-grandfather's name?”

  “Sir Mycroft Holmes,” he said and moved off to serve other customers.

  With a smug grin, she finished her drink. That was the name of the man w
ho'd founded the club. She shouldn't have forgotten it, given how similar it was to Myron.

  Amelia didn't know whether to hope Myron was Mycroft and something out of a fiction novel was happening or it was just a good likeness and she'd mistaken the supernatural healing power of both of them. On one hand, having a superhero mentor her made the arrangement even more amazing, but it wasn't an easy scenario to believe. This was the real world, and so far superheroes were only in the realm of fiction.

  Not that this bend of reality had stopped her from thinking about the possibility. Myron having such a secret was something she'd thought long and hard about. She would have to tread carefully with one as large as being immortal. And if he found out she was digging, he could have her disposed of to protect his secret. She had to decide if she wanted to know what was going on or if it was safer to stay in the dark.

  It took her less than a minute of thinking to pull out her phone and look up an internet café nearby. After going to her room and tidying up her appearance, she went to find it.

  London was a big city and unfamiliar to her, but she knew she needed to get used to it. Both Sebastian and Myron were at home in every road and street. At some point, she knew Myron would want her to learn the place. Probably even memorise locations and the best way to get there, so she tried to take in the people around her and the information they gave off as well as the monuments, tube stations and bus routes she went past.

  Having plenty of time, she walked, and by the time she reached the internet café her fingers were so cold she could barely feel the tips. In her haste at packing she'd forgotten her gloves.

  She ordered a hot drink and sat down at the ageing computer. It took her a few more minutes to order her thoughts and decide what was best to search. There was a small chance Myron would watch her movements as well as what she did here. With that in mind, it wouldn't be good to type in anything that couldn't be explained as simple curiosity about his family.

  After thinking about it, she decided to go along the route of the hotel owner and put in the name of the hotel she was staying at and Mycroft Holmes. As she scrolled through a few results that didn't tell her much she spotted a familiar name.

  The Diogenes Club was where she'd interrupted him and it had also been founded by Mycroft Holmes. It was only a little more information, but after flicking through several pages of description about the club and what members had done through the ages, she found an image of the great man.

  She sat back and stared, wide-eyed. It was a painting and old, but it was so similar it could have been him. A chill ran through her and made her shiver. If Myron was Mycroft, then the Holmes brothers had found a way to make themselves ageless. A thought that her mind struggled to accept.

  The next twenty minutes were spent in a daze as she tried to search generically enough that no one would be able to guess what she was looking for, but specific enough the results gave her more information. Little more of interest came up. There was no family tree, and Holmes was a common enough surname that without specifying one of the family members she was overloaded with irrelevant information.

  When her time ran out, Amelia decided to leave and go back to the hotel. She could think about what it might mean and how they might have achieved a supernatural status from somewhere less out in the open. At the moment, she still didn't know for sure if Myron had summoned her to London for her safety or to learn from him.

  With a sigh she pulled on her coat, paid her bill and stepped back out into the cold January air. It was dark now and even colder than before, so she huddled down into her coat, trying to keep her neck warm.

  As she rounded the next corner she bumped straight into a guy coming the other way. She bounced off him but he caught her and held her upright until she was steady again. Only then did she look up.

  “Sebastian!” She immediately tried to think of some way to explain her presence without giving away her secret arrangement with Myron, but her brain fogged up in response.

  “Amelia, you're in London. Where are you staying?”

  “The Raddison,” she replied, not willing to volunteer anything else.

  “Ah, so brother of mine has brought you here.”

  “You know about that?” Relief made her exhale and relax the muscles in her shoulders. Hiding the agreement from one of the most observant men in the world wasn't an easy task.

  “Yes. I talked to Myron about taking an interest in you a few weeks ago. Do you have plans this evening? I know a particularly good seafood restaurant not too far away.”

  She confirmed she had no plans and allowed Sebastian to offer her his arm. A few seconds later she walked right back past the internet café she'd been sat in, and she thanked the heavens that she'd left when she had. It wouldn't have been easy to explain to him what she was doing in there, and now she was standing beside him and listening to him talk about a mysterious problem he'd solved, she couldn't believe what she'd been thinking of. Sebastian and Myron were flesh and blood, just like her. Eccentric, highly intelligent flesh and blood, but mortal.

  Pleased to have some company in a new place, Amelia shook off her silly concerns and laughed at his description of his latest case. There was a very amusing conversation with the father when Sebastian had figured out he was hiding the evidence of his family's enforced diet by feeding the almost empty food wrappers to the dog.

  “Was the dog all right in the end?” she asked, aware he was being a little callous in his description of the events.

  “Yes. It's on a special diet and being monitored by some vet, but it will live, if that's what you mean.” Sebastian waved his hands in the air as if the detail was a fly buzzing around his mind and bothering him.

  They walked into the restaurant and were taken straight to a cosy table in the packed building. The waiter greeted Sebastian by name, and less than a minute after they'd sat down the chef came out, shook Sebastian's hand and promised to cook them anything they wanted to eat.

  Once they'd ordered and were waiting for food, Sebastian turned his focus on her again.

  “So, have you seen my brother dearest since you've been in London?” he asked.

  “Yes, earlier. He was trying to teach me to observe situations and people the way you both do. I'm not very good at it yet. I think I disappointed him, and I've been instructed to practice.”

  “Hmmm. I didn't realise he was taking that much of an interest in matters.”

  “Me neither. After we argued over the possibility of Guy Thomas being my stalker, I assumed our arrangement would be over and he wouldn't teach me anymore, but here I am.” She shrugged her shoulders and smiled. It was so much easier not having to hide it from him. She'd been on guard with Sebastian ever since she'd made the offer to Myron.

  Sebastian asked Amelia about her books next, and they talked about plots and possible scandals she could use from real world cases and experiences of his for the rest of the meal. Since Myron had insisted she rewrite her last novel because it used real world events, she'd made Sebastian promise to tell her if anything he suggested was inspired by true cases. If it was too sensitive in nature she wouldn't use it, and she soon noticed her idea of too sensitive and Sebastian's were a world apart.

  It also became apparent that Sebastian needed little encouragement to talk about the many cases he'd solved. The more convoluted and impressive the more it excited him to tell her.

  By the time she pushed her knife and fork together and declared herself full, the table beside them had finished the last of their drinks and were leaving. The husband slipped a twenty pound note under the edge of his beer glass and the couple left.

  Less than a minute later a man on his way back from the bathroom caught his foot on the far table leg. She looked at him as he tripped, as did Sebastian. When Amelia refocused her attention, she noticed the waiter's tip was gone.

  “Sebastian, that man just stole...”

  “I know,” he replied, already getting to his feet. “Be right back.”

 
She watched him hurry after and simply brush past the guy, grabbing his arm and whispering something. Sebastian then circled around to come back to their table.

  “Got it,” he said and held up the note between two fingers.

  “You picked his pocket!”

  Sebastian grinned.

  “That's not all,” he said as he reached for the dessert menu, opened it and handed it to her. Instantly, her eyes were drawn to the chocolate brownie picture. When she glanced back up for Sebastian to continue and explain the rest, she noticed he was still grinning at her.

  As she looked at the other table, she gasped. The money was back where it had started, tucked under the empty glass. While she was sitting, wide-eyed and unable to speak, the waiter cleared the table. He then came over to them, pulling his menu device from his pocket.

  “She'll have the chocolate brownie,” Sebastian said before they'd even been asked. She laughed, and it broke the hold on her voice.

  “That was amazing. Will you explain how you did it?” she asked when they were alone together again.

  “I can teach you, if you like?”

  Delight stretched her mouth into a grin as she nodded. She'd very much like to learn how to do the subtle but difficult acts he'd just performed.

  She ate her dessert as quickly as she could, which wasn't particularly fast after so much food, and pulled out her purse to pay. Sebastian shook his head and pushed it back towards her.

  “You need the money more than I, and this was my idea. If they even let us pay.” He fished a card out from his inside jacket pocket, but as he'd suggested, they weren't allowed to pay but ushered from the building with smiles.

  Excitement made Amelia's pulse race, so they took a taxi back to Baker Street. As soon as they walked in, Mrs Wintern noticed and come out of her flat.

  “If you want tea this late you will have to make it yourself. Although I'm sure that's not what you two young people had in mind this late at night.”