Heyy :)
I'm a huuuge fan of Doctor Who and Sherlock, so here's a little crossover fic for them :)
I'm not sure where this story is gonna go but hey, another 5 pips for Sherlock to solve :')
Disclaimer: I wish I owned Benedict Cumberbatch, but I don't. *dayumm* Neither do I own Amy Pond, Sherlock, Doctor Who or any other BBC stuffs metioned here :p
Amy Pond gaped at the man sat across from her, nearly choking on her vodka & coke. He smirked, used to the reactions his deductions usually induced. He had been sitting at the Criterion bar drinking a coffee, black with two sugars, when a young woman had slid effortlessly onto the tall bar stool beside him. There was something about her that was different, he thought, something striking. It wasn't her hair, which tumbled down her back in a shining blaze of copper. No – gingers weren't really his thing – though there was one time while he was at Harrow…no. It wasn't even her legs that interested him, long and slender and covered only by an impossibly short mini-skirt. No, it was something different, something new – something fascinating.
Within the seconds the stranger had reeled off Amy's age, the fact she had grown up in Leadworth, and even her past profession (how the hell had he known about the whole kissogram thing? It was a laugh but surely it wasn't that glaringly obvious!). He could even tell her that she had recently broken her wrist.
"There's a small swollen area below your left thumb where the bone was shifted upwards" he had said. The young women shook her head disbelievingly.
"How can you know all this? Are you some kind of – I don't know – mind reader or something?" The man smiled ruefully.
"I'm a consulting detective. The only one in the world"
"A detective?"
"A consulting detective. When the police are out of their depth they come to me for help."
"Sounds intriguing." Smiled Amy. "So, go on impress me. Tell me more. I'm pretty complex you know."
The consulting detective frowned, his brow furrowing under a fringe of dark curls.
"I can't. It's like, there's so much about you, but nothing makes sense. It's really quite…mesmerising"
Amy's heart fluttered and she took a sip of her drink, trying not to blush. The man's phone rang. He answered, and a series of 5 Greenwich pips rang out. He stared at the screen, clearly trying to regain some composure. "Well, miss…what did you say your name was?"
"I didn't. It's Amy – Amy Pond"
"Well - Amy Pond – that mysterious air about you that I can't decipher…someone's drawing my attention to it." He turned the phone to face Amy, and she gasped as she saw a photograph of herself on the screen. He nodded.
"Someone else has noticed it too, and you really need to duck right about now" Saying this he threw himself at her, knocking her to the floor, as the glasses on the bar were obliterated in a shower of bullets.
"Just who the hell are you?" Amy looked up at him, adrenaline coursing through her.
He flicked a dark curl out of his eyes and looked down at her, his eyes filled with fire and adrenaline.
"The names Sherlock Holmes."
I can has opinions please? :)