Brilliant {A BBC Sherlock Fanfic}

Chapter Fourteen: Heroes Don't Exist

CHAPTER FOURTEEN: HEROES DON'T EXIST

Amelia clamped her hands over her ears as she tried to tune out the reporter's rambling on the television, failing miserably. Amelia gripped the edge of the table with her fingers, "Will you turn that damn thing off? Or at least turn it down?" she snarled.

"...is said to have been caused by a faulty gas main. A spokesman from the utilities company..." the reporter trailed off as John turned down the volume.

"He certainly gets about." the doctor said, furrowing his eyebrows.

"Well, obviously, I lost that round." Sherlock said, leaning over and muting the television. "Although, technically, I did solve the case. He killed the old lady because she started to describe him. Just once, he put himself in the firing line."

"What d'you mean?" John said, not noticing the way that Amelia's grip on the table suddenly became tighter. She practically threw the chair backwards as she got up, collapsing on the sofa alongside Two, absentmindedly scratching behind his ears.

"Well," said Sherlock, "usually, he must stay above it all. He organises these things but no one ever has direct contact."

"What, like the Connie Prince murder-he arranged that? So people come to him wanting their crimes fixed up, like booking a holiday?"

"Exactly like that." Amelia said quietly.

"Novel," Sherlock said at the same time. He glanced down at his phone, "Taking his time this time."

"Anything on the Carl Powers case?" John piped up, not enjoying the silence between them. "Okay, what the hell happened between you two? One day you're the best of friends, the next you're not speaking to each other."

"Nothing, and nothing." Sherlock dismissed. "All the living classmates check out spotless. No connection."

"Maybe the killer was older than Carl?"

"The thought had occurred." Amelia said from the sofa, eyes still closed.

"So why's he doing this, then-playing this game with you?" John raised an eyebrow, "D'you think he wants to be caught?"

Sherlock looked at Amelia, a small smile on his lips. "I think he wants to be distracted."

Amelia looked up at this, sensing that he wasn't talking about Moriarty. "I hope you'll be very happy together." She snapped, standing.

"Sorry, what?" Sherlock said in confusion.

Amelia eyes blazed with barely contained fury. "There are lives at stake, Sherlock-actual human lives... Just-just so I know, do you care about that at all?"

"Will caring about them help save them?"

"Nope."

"Then I'll continue not to make that mistake."

"And you find that easy, do you?"

"Yes, very. Is that news to you?"

Amelia blew out a breath, hating her answer. "No."

Sherlock leaned back into his chair, scanning Amelia's defensive posture. "I've disappointed you." He realised.

"That's good-that's a good deduction, yeah."

"Don't make people into heroes, Amy. Heroes don't exist, and if they did, I wouldn't be one of them."

And in that instant, whatever trust Sherlock had built up in the past month, came crumbling down all at once. If their trust had taken form in the shape of a mansion, surely there was nothing left but rubble now. No walls left standing, even the framework was sure to have collapsed. Amelia stood in the wake of the destruction, her teeth tightly gritted, resisting the urge to punch the detective. Her resolve was about to break, but John beat her to it, giving Sherlock a sharp kick in the shin.