The Art Of Corruption ~ A BBC Sherlock Fanfiction {Book III}

Chapter 41- Seven Deadly Sins: Pride

Emily's POV

-------------------

"Amy Walksin," muses Mycroft, sitting back and spreading the papers across his desk. "Our criminal has a name."

We're currently standing around the imposing mahogany table that dominates Mycroft's personal office. It's been two days since our memorable encounters with this woman, and, much to Sherlock's indignation and my well-founded horror, the details of our experiences were passed on to Mycroft immediately. This morning I was woken up by the hum of engines belonging to a small entourage of black vehicles waiting outside my apartment. Refusal was not an option. I can only assume that there was a similar retinue stationed around Baker Street; we were all brought to Mycroft's headquarters and presented with background information on Amy Walksin.

I'm probably not the best person to be offering my constructive opinion; I'm sporting a sprained arm and a bruised pride to go with it, and I want nothing more than to track down Amy personally and tear out hanks of her perfect hair. However, I don't think the others would appreciate my input, so, with some effort, I manage to keep my violent thoughts to myself as Mycroft passes over the files.

John takes the paper nearest to him, and begins flipping through the photographs and attachments. He frowns at one page, and looks up, confused:

"It says 'Norwegian' here. That can't be right, with a name like Walksin-"

"That's simply the pseudonym she's selected. Names aren't important. They're titles. Nothing more," says Sherlock, dismissively. "Her accent is English, but it's clear that she is not."

"She isn't," confirms Mycroft. "We can be certain about that. Amy Walksin, as we know her, was originally involved with multiple, small-scale crimes in Norway, before bringing her interests over to England five years ago."

"And you didn't know about this?"

"Of course I knew about it, Sherlock. What do you take me for?"

"Then why isn't she in prison?" asks John, passing the files over to Millie.

"We can't afford to make arrests whenever we please. It's a matter of...selection. Until recently, Amy Walksin was but a mere inconvenience. Nothing to waste resources on. Naturally, we had her on our radar-"

"Had," interrupts Sherlock, coldly. "Past tense."

"I don't like repeating myself, Sherlock. She wasn't important. Her crimes were neither planned nor well-executed, and they existed on such a minute scale, we decided that constant monitoring was no longer necessary."

"And what a mistake that was."

While they talk, I watch Millie tracing the text with her finger, a small crease appearing between her eyebrows as she reads. Without looking up, she taps Sherlock on the arm, then holds out a hand. Sherlock reaches into his coat pocket, retrieves a pen, and passes it to her. All of this is done without verbal communication.

I reflect on their curious relationship as heated conversation is exchanged. From what John's told me, Millie started off as a case; a mystery, her past a blur and her future a mess. Initially, Sherlock used her: used her ability to analyse people and their emotions, used her to shift Moriarty's attention away from John. It seems strange, now, a watered-down memory. Unwillingly, painfully- like a criminal being hauled up to death row- sentiment took over, forcing Sherlock to step back and reconsider his motives. Fascination led to obsession, and obsession spiralled into infatuation. They need each other. They need the stimulus, the constant vying for intellectual glory. Where Millie specialises in sociology and psychology, Sherlock focuses on intent and result. It is unusual, abnormal, even, but somehow, they've welded together; a mismatched, patchwork picture, woven together. It isn't love. Definitely not. But it is a deep-rooted, cerebral attraction that has manifested itself in the form of care - whether they want to admit it or not.