Chapter Text
Doors were often seen as some sort of gateway, a separation between two eras that could only be crossed by making a big decision. Perhaps an overly sentimental role to give to an object as common in everyday life as a door, but people did like sentiment.
To Amelie, doors were more of a suggestion. There wasn't one she couldn't easily shoulder through without much more than a bent paper clip, a flick of a wrist, a vague smile to any passerby. No big decision making there. If one were to insist on sticking to the 'doors as a metaphor of transition', Amelie would have transitioned through a lot of eras rapidly, entering and leaving with a fast gait, a little more baggage in her hands than before.
Was that the reason she had found herself here? Baggage? Responsibility? It was hard to say. Many things were hard to say when one was trying to stay under the radar when in a city as populated and monitored as London. No need for earnest conversation or idle chatter, lest someone forms a connection and would be able to recall her face when questioned. No, silent and mousy was the way to go.
221B Baker Street.
Amelie sure felt mousy facing the large wooden door her legs had led her to. It wasn't the size of it that intimidated her, as unfamiliar as the feeling was, or even the obvious weight of it, but rather the careless marker of human presence left there for everyone to see. The door knocker was off-centered, drastically so, like someone had simply let it clang back onto the door after using it and not even thought to correct it. Such a careless gesture spoke of someone who was either obnoxiously overconfident, or of a character so large they considered it unnecessary to conceal their presence even in the most obvious ways. The former, Amelie was very prepared to deal with, while the latter made a shiver go down her spine.
That, or they were just civilians.
No time like the present to find out. Amelie raised her hand to knock, then hesitated halfway between the knocker and the doorbell.
She didn't have much time. Well, maybe she did, but there was no need to stick around and find out. By the time she would realize she didn't have much time at all would be when she was staring down the barrel of a gun, which was kind of what she was trying to avoid. So, time to knock.
Her fingers barely grazed the knocker before pulling back. She shouldn't mess with the positioning, since it seemed to be such a clear marker of someone's territory. Couldn't be a good first impression.
Right?
Her finger twitched towards the doorbell. Perhaps that way would be too direct, too loud, too desperately calling for attention. A proper infiltration was made slowly and without much fanfare. A flawless employment, a polite and neutral greeting, a soft click of a door. Like a little mouse.
Mousy, like Amelie was feeling.
But then, she wasn't trying to infiltrate this place.
The door was opened before Amelie could make her final decision. She decided not to flee, since getting inside had been her ultimate goal, and passing up this opportunity would probably cost her quite a while. Again, not much time. Probably.
"Oh deary, you must be freezing! Come on in, you must be here for Sherlock, right?"
The woman that opened the door wore a faint smile. With her short hair curled away from her face and powder dusted over her face, she seemed like any old lady, though her hands were steady and she didn't seem the slightest bit worried about letting a stranger into her home. She was the kind of woman that made Amelie want to stick by her side, two steps behind, standing guard and catching bullets.
Those strange emotions were really getting more apparent each day. Must be something about the city.
She let herself be ushered in. The door, heavy as it was, fell shut with a loud thud, shutting out the winter breeze trying to push one last gust of cold through Amelie's hair. Inside, the air was warm and dry.
"Yes, ma'am", she answered. "I didn't call ahead, but I was hoping Mr. Holmes would be available." If he wasn't, she wouldn't be coming back. There would be a train leaving London that same evening that went all the way to Edinburgh. She could hop into one of the compartments and catch some sleep hidden between all the machinery that was being transported.
"I'd be surprised if he wasn't, considering he's been trying to wear a hole in the floor with his pacing for the past ten minutes. He's not this excited about a client very often."
Oh no. Had he been watching her and she hadn't even noticed? How many more people could have been watching her while she struggled to comprehend her own struggle to knock on a door? She couldn't have that.
Maybe this wasn't such a great idea after all. Honestly, what had she been thinking? A famous detective? Really?
The woman led her up a dark flight of stairs. A total of six of the steps creaked under their weight. At the top, there was another door, not as heavy or large as the one facing the street, yet still a little uninviting.
The door was flung open before they even reached the top of the stairs. Amelie looked up into the face of Sherlock Holmes. He was a tall man, with dark hair and a structured face, and currently looking borderline manic. The skin on his face was pale and thin, showing the faint traces of his veins, throbbing with blood and energy. His hands were folded together against his chin.
Amelie met his gaze head-on. She could see the calculations running in his head, his pale eyes scanning her top to bottom, flicking from her dyed hair to her posture to her shoes, then back up to the contouring she had brushed on her temples and nose, all within a second. His eyes lit up in delight, even as the rest of his face remained in its neutral state.
"Yes."
Holmes took an energetic step back, his long legs carrying him well out of the doorway. His piercing gaze remained on Amelie for a breath longer. For a split second, she was sure she saw a manic smile flash onto his face, right before he spun around to cross the room in four wide strides.
"Yes!", he shouted, much more elated than the first time. His body language spoke of excitement, joy and... Relief? He turned to the ceiling before shouting again, "John! It's business!"
The woman smiled slyly as she gestured for Amelie to enter. She did so with a straight back and decided not to bother with rehearsed pleasantries when faced with such a unique individual. She stood, arms loosely held by her sides, as she waited for John Watson to appear. He did so with steps thudding down the staircase, pulling the open door shut behind himself, and then it was just Holmes, Watson and Amelie in the cluttered room.
Holmes had pulled up a chair facing the fireplace and taken a seat across from it, following Amelie hungrily with his eyes as he gestured towards it.
"Have a seat", he kept his voice level as he spoke, though the edge of it didn't quite disappear. Amelie did as he asked, as Watson huffed out an irritated breath. He stood behind the free armchair, arms crossed.
"Uhm, hello." He sounded annoyed, a bit snappish. "A client?", he asked Holmes, who didn't grace him with a reply, or even a drop of his attention. It remained laser focused on Amelie, who pulled a friendly expression onto her face before she answered.
"I am. It's nice to meet you, Doctor Watson."
Her smooth tone seemed to please him somewhat, as the scrunch to his lips lessened and he circled around the chair to sit down. "You too..."
"Just Amelie." She ignored the nearly undetectable tug of a smirk on the corner of Holmes' mouth that followed. Amelie didn't wait to be invited to continue.
"I've read about you both. Apparently, you guys are currently my best shot at finding what I need." Holmes leaned forward, putting his elbows on his knees as he stared intently. She took a breath. It was a little too warm in the flat. "However, I don't know if this is a service you can offer, or if it's even possible with your means."
"What is it?", the detective asked, almost not letting her finish. His fingers were stapled together by his chin. "We're taking this case, of course, but what is it?"
Watson's head snapped around. "We are?"
"We are."
Usually, Amelie enjoyed being around eccentric people, but Holmes' unwavering attention seemed to be getting more intense by the second. She risked a glance at the door, then the window. "I'm looking for a person. Multiple people, perhaps."
Slowly, Watson let himself sink back into the cushions. "We- can do that. We've done that, actually."
"Kidnapped children, yes, I read about it." She nodded, recalling the headline. "The thing is, I don't know their names, or if they're even alive."
Holmes tapped his index fingers against each other. She cleared her throat.
"I'm also not sure they'll look the same I remember them, or if they'll be hostile." Her voice trailed off at the end of the statement as she once again realized how ridiculous this was. This was her mess and her mission. Who would go to a self-proclaimed consulting detective for that?
"If that's too much to ask I understand, it does seem like an impossible feat. That's why I came here. But if you can't help me with this, I should get going."
"No. Stay."
A beat passed in silence. Amelie was starting to get really warm in her sweater.
"Soo-" Watson started, trying to catch Holmes' eye first and sharing a look with her when that didn't work, half curious and half impatient.
Finally, the detective removed his hands from his chin. He blinked a few times, and Amelie felt his focus wasn't quite as intense as it had been before. "Remarkable."
"Sorry?", she questioned.
"You, Just Amelie, are remarkable. Extraordinary, even. Very good indeed." His freed fingers drummed against his knees. He caught the next split-second look Amelie shot towards the uncovered window and consciously made himself lean back.
"I can assure you that you are in one of the safest places in London. Nobody gets past Mrs. Hudson. Now, please", he breathed out the word like he was pleading, "tell us everything."
A knot of a breath she hadn't even noticed she had been holding left Amelie in a rush, leaving her slumped in her wooden chair like a doll with its strings cut. Fitting.
"A year ago, I escaped a program called the Red Room."