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the amount
out of his jacket pocket and unfolded it. McGregory took it where
he sat, as well as the pen Amelia was already holding out, and
after glancing at the four-figure sum, hastily signed his name.
    “Thank you, Mr
McGregory. There's just one last matter of importance. Have you
sold the document or a copy of it to anyone else?”
    He shook his head
and Mycroft nodded with satisfaction. He was telling the truth.
    “Well, then. We'll
leave you to your afternoon now,” Amelia said as she tucked her pen
back in her handbag and got up from her perch. McGregory didn't
notice her deftly wipe the back of her dress where it had come in
contact with his sofa but Mycroft did and had to stifle his
reaction. She shouldn't have sat down if she didn't want to get
dirty.
    Before much
longer, the pair of them were walking out of the house, half their
goal achieved, but Mycroft suspected the next part would be
significantly harder. The reporter wasn't going to buy any story
about his secrecy being for the greater good. They would have to
try a different tactic, and until Mycroft met the man, he wasn't
sure of the best approach.
    “Where are we
going now?” Amelia asked as soon as they were outside.
    Mycroft didn't
answer but walked down the short path back to the waiting car.
Daniels stood outside with a phone in his hands and a frown on his
face.
    “I couldn't get a
meeting before three this afternoon,” Daniels said as soon as they
were close enough.
    “Then we'll go to
his office.”
    “They've said he
won't be there.”
    Mycroft nodded,
expecting no less, but it was exactly the sort of thing people
said. Most of the time it wasn't true.
    “Take us there
anyway.”
    “Yes, sir.”
Daniels hastily tucked the phone away and opened the door for
Mycroft and Amelia. She got in first and shifted across the back
seat of the car to make room for him. As he followed her, Mycroft
caught a hint of the perfume she wore. The first time he'd smelt it
he found it a little too cloying but this time he found it didn't
bother him, especially when it mingled with the smell of rose
coming from the single flower sitting where she'd left it in the
car. It was more gentle and natural than the air fresheners Daniels
used.
    “I can't imagine
the reporter will be as cooperative,” Amelia said once the car was
underway, echoing his earlier thoughts.
    “No, he won't be.
And it might be wise if I handled this second meeting alone,” he
replied. She raised her eyebrows and opened her mouth to question
his decision before thinking better of it. “I wouldn't want any
harm to come to your reputation as a writer.”
    “Oh.”
    “While I have full
confidence that he will be persuaded to cooperate, I can't stop him
from forming some kind of vendetta against you in the future. It's
best he doesn't ever connect you to me.”
    She nodded, and he
found himself yet again surprised by how much information he was
volunteering to Amelia. It wasn't like him to explain himself, at
least not since Sherlock had been a young boy. He didn't need to
anymore. But how else was she to learn?
    The biggest
difference between Amelia and Sherlock was how completely obedient
and loyal Amelia was. His brother would often deliberately
antagonise him and sometimes flat out refused to help, yet Amelia
relished the chance to provide assistance.
    A few times she'd
angered him because she'd acted in a manner he wouldn't have
recommended but every time it had actually been her best option. It
reminded him that he had underestimated her at least twice. He just
wasn't used to anyone coming close to the Holmes brothers in terms
of intelligence. Not since Moriarty had anyone been better than he
expected. Usually, he found people were the opposite.
    Amelia seemed to
understand that he wanted to think for the remainder of their
journey and stayed quiet in her seat. Normally, long silences in
situations such as this quickly felt awkward, leading him to
regularly refuse to have company on a