A/N:
Hello everyone! *waves* It's Han. Glad to be back!
I want to give you all some updates on my stories so far. If you've checked my profile recently, you'll notice that Picture This is not discontinued, merely on hiatus. Yes, this means that I DO plan to continue. Probably. Someday. We'll see.
The Forgotten Story has not, in fact, been forgotten. I've been really busy with school and have no time to write at home. And TFS is one thing that I really can't write anywhere but at home. It requires a lot of thought, and oftentimes I need to go check something in an episode, which is something that I'm unable to do at school. I'm reluctant to mark it as being an official hiatus, though.
Anyway, I hope you enjoy this, guys! The title, Red and Blue, is temporary until I think of a better one. If you have any suggestions, please leave a review. :P
-Han
prologue
It was an evening in late autumn when Amy Pond first met Sherlock Holmes.
She was running, running fast, because the Doctor was gone. He had simply disappeared and she couldn't remember where they'd left the TARDIS. Her breath puffed out in white clouds that drifted away in the chilly air, but she wasn't cold; adrenaline made her blood hot as she skidded to a stop, hair flying as she looked around.
I've seen that building there, she decided. Which means I have to go… um, left.
Amy turned on her heel, boots thudding on the asphalt as she crossed the street. She didn't even notice the figure that was walking down the sidewalk until she quite literally crashed into him.
The man let out a heavy breath, an exhalation of surprise as his hands clamped around her upper arms. Amy looked up at him, fighting to catch her breath.
The man had a sharp, pale face, with high cheekbones and piercing ice-blue eyes. His hair was a mop of soft, dark curls. Around his neck was tied a deep blue scarf - TARDIS blue, Amy noted - and he wore a thick wool trench coat of charcoal grey, underneath which was what looked like a black suit with a white shirt. His handsome face showed surprise for only a moment before his features rearranged into an impassive expression.
Sherlock – for of course the man was Sherlock Holmes – was quite startled when this young woman ran straight into him, interrupting his thoughts. His hands curled around her arms in an attempt to both steady himself and halt the girl's motion. Forcing himself to recover quickly, he looked her over, taking in all the details.
Her nose was dusted with freckles and her cheeks were flushed, either from the cold or the exertion of running, which made her hazel eyes bright. Her hair, which was so red it could not have been anything but natural, was in disarray. She wore a vibrant red scarf, the long ends tossed over her shoulders, and a turquoise-green coat over a maroon sweater. A short black skirt that seemed somewhat inappropriate for this weather showed off her long legs, which were clad in dark brown tights and brown, knee-high boots.
It was Amy who broke the spell, pulling out of Sherlock's now-relaxed grasp. "Sorry," she said, darting past him. "I'm in a bit of a rush."
She was Scottish, he noticed vaguely as he turned to watch her go. Distinctly Scottish. How very interesting.
The ginger turned and disappeared around a corner, gone from his life as suddenly as she had entered it.