Sherlock's Apprentice

Chapter 11

CHAPTER 11

I'm going to stay. I think I'm crazy enough to keep on the case. Well with Sherlock, I don't really have a choice whether I stay or go since we are already at the morgue, dissecting the dolls.

"Sherlock, can I help?"

"Just sit and breath."

"Nope. I did that in the taxi. Anything else?"

"Well if you can take it-"

"Yep." For some reason I am sincerely surprised that he cares how I feel because in the taxi he didn't seem like he even made one thought about me and how I feel.

"Well, here you are," he threw me the body of my own doll and I jumped.

"Amelia! Careful!"

"Sorry. You threw it!" I point out then looked at my shoes and made my way over to the table hastily.

"Why wasn't there fluff in yours? It was just empty." I asked in a state of confusion. "What does it mean?"

"Figure it out." I think about it for a minute or two. If mine and Johns dolls had fluff then why didn't his? It was empty and ours were filled to the brim. It hit me in less then a second and at first it was to much for me to handle. Ours were full and his was empty because he thought himself heartless and empty. I saw this whenever I looked at him. It was usually covered with a scowl or vexed expression but it was still there. John mentioned how he called him self heartless in his first meeting with Moriarty. Even when he faked dying for John, Lestrade and my grandmother, he still saw himself as a heartless bastard. The truth was that he was just a bastard. Any way whoever made these dolls knows Sherlock, and knows him well. They know his heart and deepest feelings and they know his greatest fear, and whoever made these dolls thinks that Sherlock would ever care for me. That mustn't know him that well. I discuss my theory with Sherlock hoping I was right because if I wasn't that would be so bloody embarrassing.

"Am I right? It's Moriarty isn't it?" I ask and he only nods with a pertinent expression on his long face. He quickly covers it-like always- and goes on.

"For a young girl you are very wise." He says- stating the blooming obvious, I say- and gets the plastic bag with the dolls in it and places it on the table.

"Oh, I'm wise now?" I ask being a tease.

"A little bit." He laughs looking up at me finally.

"Just a little bit?"

"Yeah just a little." He smiles, opens the bag and looks back down at his work.

"Can I do anything?" I ask and make my way over to where he is standing.

"Will you break anything?"

"Have I broken anything yet?"

"No."

"So then no, I won't break anything."

"Ok. Here." He throws me a new pair of plastic gloves and I seriously think he just has these things lying around everywhere.

"What?" What on earth am I supposed to do with these?

"Check for traces of anything."

"Real scientific of you Sherlock." He looks at me like 'just shut up and look'. At first I look thoroughly at my specific doll and start to wonder, what does it all mean? Why would someone go to all this trouble to make us dolls? The girls doll went missing and three days later so did she. Is that what this is all saying?

"Sherlock?" I gulp as I go to pose the important question.

"Does this mean we are going to die? We only have three days?" He looks at me and he gives a little bit of a nod and looks at his work again.

"Well then... We better keep looking."

I search over my doll. The resemblance is creepy, with hazel coloured buttons for eyes and blonde hair, the skin is pale and it is wearing a uniform similar to mine. As I am searching, look around the neck where the fake blood was painted on and decide I want to see what this fake blood was. It could be tomato sauce or something but I would like to know for sure. I do a test and it proves to be human blood. I do a second and shows the same results. The question is whose blood?

"Sherlock, this is human blood."

"I know."

"But whose?"

"I'm trying to figure out, come here." I made my way over to him and sat down in a stool that was placed next to him.

"Hold out your hand." I was going to tell him to say please but this moment wasn't one for being a bitch. He takes my small hand and stabs the top of my index finger and puts my blood on a slide.

"Here." He passes me a tissue to stop the blood then puts the slide under the lens of the microscope and then fiddles with a few knobs and then looks up at the computer that is showing different types of cells moving around and his face whitens.

"This can't be right." He says.

"What?"

"Amelia, we need to get you home." He picks up his coat and phone, looks at me then walks out of the room.

"For Pete's sake Sherlock! What is going on?" I say running after him, trying not to show a frightened expression to reflect my feelings.

"I'll get you a taxi. You need to get home."

"What? Sherlock, tell me!"

"Go home and stay there, tell Mrs. Hudson you have come down with a fever and you need to stay home for the next week."

"Why?" I ask in a yelling tone making him shut up and look at me in a surprised manner then walk away.

By the time we are outside I feel tears welling up in my eyes. Did I make a mistake? Am I in danger? What type of danger? I look at Sherlock one last time before he looks at the driver and tells him the address of my home. He shuts the door and walks back up to the curb to watch me car drive away to a safer destination.