Bored (A Sherlock Fanfiction)

Chapter 3

SHERLOCK'S POV

I walked with John and Amelia into the building, where I saw Lestrade and his colleagues gathered around a television set.

"What do you have for us this time?" I asked, watching them jump out of their chairs in shock. Lestrade recovered almost immediately, taking a bag of evidence off of the desk.

"We just finished up at the crime scene earlier. Here's the evidence," Lestrade explained, sitting back down and returning to his work. "See if you can get anything out of that." He looked up again, noticing Amelia for the first time. "Amelia?"

"Yeah, it's me. Mycroft is making me babysit these two for a while," Amelia replied, looking at both John and I.

"Good luck with that."

"Thanks, Greg. See you around." Amelia smiled before pulling us out of the door.

"Greg?" I whispered to John. "Who's Greg?" John sighed.

"Lestrade, Sherlock. Greg is Lestrade's first name."

"Oh." I frowned. "How was I suppose to know that?"

"Everyone knows that, Sherlock," Amelia interrupted. "Even I have room for that in my mind palace." She tapped her head before calling a cab.

"She has a mind palace?" John asked me, looking between us and smiling. He's probably thinking that Amelia and I would make a good couple.

"No, John, stop thinking," I said before getting in the cab. Amelia followed behind me, and John came in last.

"Let's go out for lunch," Amelia suggested before telling the driver to drive to a nearby café.

"Fine with me. Sherlock?" As I was about to disagree, my phone buzzed in my pocket.

Sherlock, be nice. ~MH

Only if you tell me her last name. ~SH

Even if I knew it I wouldn't tell you. ~MH

Then how do I figure it out? ~SH

Use your brain. ~MH

"Fine," I grumbled, pocketing my phone and leaning back in my seat.

"Talking to Mycroft won't help any," Amelia said.

"Moran?" I asked.

"No," Amelia answered, getting out of the cab. "Far worse than Moore." She thinks it's terrible. She must be disgusted with her family's actions.

"Morstan?"

"Worse," Amelia replied, giving me a blank face. I knew a few other names, none of which I wanted to be correct. But yet again, I was curious.

"Magnussen? As in Charles Augustus Magnussen?" I asked, opening the door of the café after paying the cab driver.

"Surprisingly, no. Can we just drop this? I have my reasons for hiding my past," Amelia explained, sitting down across from me at our usual table.

"No," I argued. John glared at me, and I sighed. "Fine."

A waitress came up to the table a few moments later.

"Can I get you anything?" she asked, smiling at Amelia.

"Just a coffee, please. Black with two sugars," she answered. I ordered the same, and John ordered some tea. The waitress came back a few minutes later.

"You two are so alike it's scary," John muttered, sipping his tea. I glared at him, but he just rolled his eyes.

"Can I see the phone from the evidence bag?" Amelia asked. I handed it to her, and right away she started deducing, as well as checking through the phone. "Password is 221B, but someone reset it. Most likely the murderer. It used to be 1234, the typical password for a forgetful person. This person just happens to be... Nathan Walker, age 37, married to Kathryn Young, age 35. Nathan was out getting something for his wife on their anniversary, when he was shot. What Kathryn doesn't know is that her husband is working for James Moriarty, and he had planned on revealing plans to a friend of his. This behavior was unacceptable of course, so Moriarty sent someone to kill him." She looked up and handed me the phone.

"Anything else to add?"

"No," I huffed, standing up. Showoff. I flipped up the collar on my coat and walked out of the door, John and Amelia following close behind. "Let's go have a talk with Mrs. Young."