A/N: I only own Amelia and her friends and non-Holmes family.

I'm thinking that after this, there will be maybe one more chapter before the events of The Great Game.

eish (aysh, SA English, Afrikaans) – Used to express surprise, wonder, frustration or outrage

hang of – Very or big, as in, "It's hang of difficult", or, "I had a hang of a problem".

Belofte Maak Skuld / Promises Are Binding

Sewe: Every Day Is A Winding Road

Every day is a winding road

I get a little bit closer

Every day is a faded sign

I get a little bit closer to feeling fine

-Sheryl Crow 'Every Day Is A Winding Road'

"Amelia," Sherlock's baritone drones from the kitchen. He temporarily abandons his latest experiment to step between her and the door. "What's this nonsense Mycroft is telling me about you job hunting?"

"Eish, because it isn't nonsense," Amelia says, maneuvering her way around him to grab her purse. "I really am looking for a job. I feel hang of lazy sitting around Baker Street all day."

"You don't need a job," his tone lacks the anger that his words suggest. "We are not in a situation where you need to work for extra money."

"I know we're loaded; I've been to the Holmes Estate. I'm just bored is all."

Sherlock hms and folds his arms over his chest – had she not witnessed it herself, Amelia never would believe anybody if they said that they heard emotion in Sherlock Holmes's voice. "You aren't doing it to…avoid me."

"Of course not," she smiles at her dad to reassure him. "Now out of my way, I have an interview at a fancy place in Notting Hill in an hour - does this outfit look all right?"

Her father wrinkles his nose at the mention of the somewhat affluent London neighborhood. "The name?"

"The Ledbury."

From his spot in front of the television, John gasps and almost chokes on his tea. "You got an interview at bloody The Ledbury? How in the hell -?"

"My uncle did a favor for somebody who knows the owner and my previous employer wrote a good reference letter," she says nonchalantly.

"I didn't know The Ledbury hired students," John says. "Good for you."

Amelia shrugs and slips on her shoes. "I imagine they don't like to hire them as young as me, not usually at least, but not everyone has a Mycroft. Dad, outfit. Acceptable?"

"At least my brother's connections are finally being put to good use," he says as he looks over his daughter's clothing choice. Last time she came to visit him in London she didn't care how mismatched her outfits were. Now a teenager, even her day-to-day outfits are meticulously planned. Amelia no longer looks like a carefree little girl but a young woman. Sherlock Holmes is not the most knowledgeable man when it comes to women's fashion, but he likes the way that her mid-length black skirt matches her off-white buttoned blouse, black jacket, and heeled boots and earrings.

"You can walk in heels?" he asks skeptically, and when Amelia nods, "Acceptable. Do you need cab money?"

"Mycroft is picking me up – well I say Mycroft - he's sending a car," Amelia shrugs and walks out the door and down the stairs.

Good, Sherlock walks over to his violin and begins to tune it to fight the urge to run after her and escort her to her interview. After yesterday's news, he feels like that is what he should do, needs to do. He isn't a protective parent (not even much of a parent in his mind) he just doesn't want Amelia out of the house apart from school and preferably supervised errands.

Twenty-one hours ago he wouldn't have cared; now he does. He doesn't doubt Amelia's ability to take care of herself. He has read one of her journals and some of the stories attest to her self-defense skills but there are some people that she can't defend herself from.

Yesterday he received a phone call from Mycroft – what possessed him to answer he will never know – and regretted it before he even hung up. Now, he can't think of his daughter leaving Baker Street without a brief sense of 'I should follow her' coming over him.

He knows exactly why Mycroft is sending a car.

And it isn't because he doesn't want his dear niece taking cabs and using public transit. If that was the reason then he would also have been arranging for cars to take her to and from school. The reason that Mycroft is having her driven to her job interview is the same reason that Sherlock is sending a text to Mycroft asking him to keep an eye out for her on the CCTV.

"John, my phone." No reply.

"John!" Silence.

"J…ohn?" When nobody responded for the third time, Sherlock stretched his arm out six centimeters and grabbed his phone: Mycroft.

The detective heaved an irritated sigh and took the call. "What do you want?"

"For you to shut up and listen," coolly answered Holmes the elder. "You will want to."

"Unless it involves a good case-"

"Better," droned Mycroft. "It's to do with Amy."

"Amelia," Sherlock made no attempt to hide the irritation in his voice. "If I wanted her to be called Amy it would have been put on her birth certificate. What about Amelia?"

"You may want to…" he paused. "Prevent this bit of information from reaching her ears as I am afraid that it will do her more harm than good."

"It involves her stepfather," that much he could easily deduce.

"A correct deduction."

Neither he nor Anelle were proponents of the mindset 'the less our daughter knows about the world the better.' Honesty was important to both of them, hence why even as a girl she knew 'Daddy doesn't care for Mummy, but he cares for me,' and other things that most parents would have kept from their children. Much to Sherlock's surprise and pleasure the honesty deal was one aspect of his and Amelia's relationship that Mycroft respected, encouraged, and participated in, which is exactly why the detective knew that his brother's news had to involve Gabriël Prinsloo – why else would Mycroft ask him to keep something from her?

Sherlock leaned back into his chair and tapped his foot. "I have a hunch as to what the news is. However I am hoping that for once in my life my deduction is incorrect."

"I'm afraid not," Mycroft said apologetically.

"When?"

"Yesterday. Someone anonymously posted bail."

More than anything, Sherlock was irritated. He clearly had much better things to do besides worry 'is Amelia's bloody psychotic stepfather coming to kill her soon?' and Mr. Prinsloo being out of jail is the last thing he needed. He held his breath for a moment and turned his ear toward the bathroom where Amelia was showering to make sure that the noise would drown out his voice.

"Mycroft," Sherlock hissed. "Where is he?"

"I had an eye on him."

"There's a but. Mycroft, what is it?"

"They lost him and it is very possible that he has left the country."

Sherlock's mind quickly worked through all of the possible reasons for Prinsloo to leave the country and all of them somehow circled back to Amelia. "Is he coming after her?"

Silence.

"Mycroft."

Silence, sigh, hesitation. "It's…not something that we can rule out. She is, after all, the only living witness to the murder. Not to mention that Prinsloo made an attempt on her life as well once she saw him – without Amelia to testify against him, he may be able to get away with it. He has an excellent lawyer."

"Send a car to take her to school from now on," demanded Sherlock.

"I'm afraid that won't be enough; Amelia is looking for a job and has an impressive résumé. I would be very surprised if she did not find an employer in the near future and I will not sabotage this opportunity for our peace of mind."

"Who says I worry about her?"

"Sherlock."

"Keep an extra set of eyes on her. I know that you have people you can spare to tail her when she is away from Baker Street."

Mycroft laughed at his brother. "In fact, I already have people on it."

It wasn't that Sherlock felt a sudden surge of affection for his daughter, but rather, that he would very much prefer that her stepfather not murder her. Mycroft and Mummy Holmes would never let him hear the end of it and John would be so annoying with his assumption that it would cause him pain and constantly ask, 'are you okay?' when, clearly, he would be. For everybody's benefit, it was best that Amelia Holmes remain alive and far, far away from Gabriël Prinsloo.

:-:

That interview went ten times better than my last, Amelia humorously reminisces about her Bartlett entry interview as she brushed her hair in the Ledbury's bathroom. Confident that her job interview went swimmingly, she wouldn't be surprised if she got a call by the end of the next week. Only a few months after her mother's death, and Amelia feels as if she's adjusted well thus far. Yesterday, Friday, she went out for coffee with Leila Nassiri afterschool as a way for Leila to thank her for sticking up for it. Amelia has a feeling that she and Leila will be able to be friends.

Her tryout for the archery team was a piece of cake. Unanimously, the team members voted her onto the team. Finally she's found the places she belongs here in London. She misses South Africa, her true home, more than anything (aside from her mother), but she had decided that it is pointless to refuse to find places to belong in England just because she misses her other home. If she had to spend the rest of her life trying, she decided that she will make London her home, and archery and job hunting are part of that process.

"All right, Africa," chuckles a voice as she neared the restaurant's exit. "You're definitely stalkin' me now."

Cute Scottish Guy! "Ian," Amelia gasps in surprise. "What are you-"

"I work here," he gestures to his uniform. "What're you doin'ere?"

"I was just interviewed for a job," she admits sheepishly.

"Oh, well good for you, I hope boss calls you back soon," Ian looks over his shoulder, indicating that he has to get back to work. "Good luck; guess I'll be seeing you around more often.

Amelia smiles and waves her farewell, Ian, true to his friendly, goofy nature, ostentatiously winks and says, "Fair travels, m'lady!"

She makes a mental note to ask Leila if Ian is always that happy. This revelation of Ian's employment is actually comforting to Amelia. Although she does not know him all that well, she at least knows his name and face, which means that if she does get the job, she'll have somebody familiar to show her the ropes.

Taking a cab home, see you soon (:, she texted her father as she attempted to hail a cab. Originally, she was going to stop by Bartlett to visit Wes and Josie, as they are boarding students and live at the school, but the way her father is acting, decided against it.

Great, what do you want for dinner? –SH

Amelia can't believe what she's reading as she sits in the backseat of the cab. Are you going to attempt to cook?

I don't see why not. –SH

You've never cooked anything but pasta for me, are you sure you can cook? He has hidden motives for this sudden, generous offer. She won't complain, but it still bothers her.

Yes Amelia. What do you want? –SH

Anything I want?

Anything. –SH

I'll make it as difficult as possible, Dad.

Amelia, before I rescind my offer. –SH

Make me frikkadel…please and thank you!

The internet exists, how fortuitous. I don't want to hear any complaints when I butcher your native cuisine, Amelia. –SH

Amelia giggles and hugs her phone to her chest. Can Sherlock Holmes cook? Maybe he can, but, can he cook South African food? Surely he cannot, but watching one's parents fail at something they themselves excel at never, ever, gets old.