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Amy was angry. Probably the angriest she had been in the entire eleven years she’d been alive. Sherlock had said she could ride her bike to the library with him to study. She went to the shed to get her bike and it wasn’t there. Someone had stolen her bike. She stalked back into the house and slammed the door shut.
“What on Earth--?” she heard Sherlock say from the living room, where he was getting his things.
“Some bloody git stole my bike!” she said.
He came out to the doorway and saw she was angry. But she also felt like she wanted to cry. The bike had been a gift, and she’d had it for just three weeks. Sherlock moved over to her and stood by her side as the first tear slipped. Then she threw her arms around his waist and cried on his shirt. She’d made her Aunt Sharon mad before she left and she knew if she asked for another bike she wasn’t going to get one. She felt Sherlock awkwardly pat her back and after a little while the crying stopped and the anger came back. “I’ll find your bike,” he said as she pulled away, wiping her eyes.
“Thank you,” she said.
He walked outside and she followed. He looked outside the shed, then inside. She could see the cut lock that was on the ground and other stuff, but she knew she wasn’t like Sherlock. Sherlock would take everything in and he would just know. He was the smartest person she knew, even smarter than most of the adults she knew, and if anyone could find her bike he would.
“The person who took your bike left a trail,” he said. He pointed to the ground. “Judging by the size of the feet it was a child, older than you but not older than me. Perhaps early teens. And there were two of them. One of them likes to wear boots. The other is a female, judging from the narrower shoe print.”
Amy looked at him. “Charlie Wilkerson has Doc Martens that he wears all the time, and he’s always around his girlfriend Marissa Banning. Her bike broke last week and she said she’d wanted one like mine.”
Sherlock nodded. “We need more evidence. Is there anything distinctive about your bike that would make it yours?”
“It has a mounted water bottle on it, and the wheels are different. The front wheel has a blue rim and the back wheel has a silver one. The front tire was busted when Aunt Sharon bought it and they had to replace the entire wheel at the bike shop.”
“Anything else?”
“Mels scratched in AJP under the seat with a screwdriver.”
Sherlock nodded. “Then let’s go pay them a visit.”
Amy followed him down the street. She was kind of nervous. Sherlock was tall but Charlie was big. Not fat, but big: broad shoulders, lots of muscles, and he was nearly as tall as Sherlock even though he was a year younger. She’d seen Charlie in a fight before, and he broke a kid’s arm without even trying. But she had to have faith Sherlock could take care of himself.
Marissa was on a bike, riding on the driveway and in the street of Charlie’s house. She stopped when she saw Sherlock and Amy coming. “Oh God. It’s the odd patrol,” she said, her voice like a nasal whine.
Charlie came out to them. “What the bloody hell do you want, Holmes? Taking your charge out for a walk so you can be daft loons together?”
“I’m getting Amelia’s bike back,” Sherlock said, pointing to the bike Marissa was on.
“This is my bike,” she replied.
“If it’s your bike you won’t mind if I take a look,” Sherlock replied. Marissa looked at Charlie nervously, but Charlie just shrugged. She got off the bike and he looked Amelia followed him. She saw the rims were two different colors, and then she followed Sherlock’s gaze. After a moment, he ran his fingers over something under the seat. “AJP,” he murmured.
“You stole my bike!” Amelia yelled at Charlie.
He snorted a laugh. “Prove it.”
“Amelia’s initials are scratched in the metal under the seat,” Sherlock said. “We’ll be taking this back with us, and if you attempt to steal it again I’ll be advising Amelia’s aunt to contact the constable.”
“I don’t think so,” Charlie said, coming up to Sherlock. Amelia backed away as Charlie invaded Sherlock’s personal space.
“I advise you to take a step back,” Sherlock said calmly.
“And what if I don’t?” he asked.
“I’ll dislocate your shoulder and break your nose,” he said simply.
“I’d like to see you try.” Charlie took a step back and made to punch Sherlock. Amelia watched as Sherlock grabbed his fist before it hit him in the face, then twisted his arm painfully and moved it behind Charlie’s back. Amelia heard a slight pop before Sherlock slammed his forehead into Charlie’s nose. Blood gushed out as Charlie stumbled backwards, howling in pain.
“Amelia, get your bike,” Sherlock said, not taking his eyes off the whimpering Charlie, who was being comforted by his girlfriend. “I can reset your shoulder for you. The nose will require a trip to the doctors, I’m afraid.”
“Don’t touch me!” Charlie said, frightened. He took a step back, and then turned and ran into the house, Marissa right behind him.
Amelia looked at Sherlock in awe. “That was awesome,” she said, ignoring her bike and throwing her arms around Sherlock’s waist, giving him a hug.
He patted her back slightly. “Let’s go back to your home and then ride to the store. I don’t think your aunt will be happy there’s not a lock on the shed. We can go to the library tomorrow.”
She pulled away, a wide grin on her face, and then got her bike. She walked it home alongside Sherlock. Whatever else she might think of him, today Sherlock was her hero. She’d figure out a way to thank him properly later.