Beneath his shut eyelids, Sherlock could hear all that was around him. His senses were awake and alert but he didn't feel the need to open his eyes to the sun he saw every day, and there was nothing special happening today, so why should he?
The clinking of tea cups, the kettle whirring as it signaled the end of its boiling, and the faint, cliché music of early morning TV shows; the sound of life. After a while he started to drift off to sleep again, a light fog of sleep slowly engulfing his thoughts and active mind, but he was jolted awake when he suddenly heard a high pitched and frankly quite loud, girlish laugh from downstairs, followed by a more masculine one. Intrigued, he sat up, swaying a little from the sudden movement, and started for John's room to see if he was awake. Maybe he had someone over, or maybe the TV was turned up to a tedious and obnoxious level. When he peeked through the door, John was still sleeping soundly in his bed, surrounded by blankets and pillows. He looked so precious to Sherlock, so warm…
No, no, he couldn't think that about John, John was his roommate and nothing more. Perhaps the early morning start was getting to his brilliant mind.
Slowly, and a little light headed, Sherlock padded downstairs, and he seemed to forget about the girlish laugh he heard from downstairs, perhaps, subconsciously, he dismissed it as the television. But as he walked to the kitchen with his observant eyes taking nothing in, he suddenly saw the figure of a girl, standing in his kitchen. Immediately he woke up and his mind and eyes began to work together again, deducing this strange girl in his kitchen. She had shiny and quite long red hair, with slightly green-brown eyes and a skinny and fragile body structure. When he spun around he saw another man standing there, his sand-coloured hair a mess and his eyes wild from the lack of sleep.
And there Sherlock stood, still groggy from sleep, as his mouth gaped open and his brain searching frantically for words. Suddenly, the girl spoke.
"Well who are you, then?" She spoke in a slightly amused voice, and a sly smile playing at her lips.
"I could ask you the same question. What the hell are you doing in my apartment?" Sherlock spat, straightening his back, a subconscious habit he had so he looked like he had much more authority over the person he was speaking to. It was quite condescending but in this case he needed to defend his territory. Why shouldn't he be angry when two strangers are standing in his kitchen drinking tea early in the morning?
"Oh, um," the other man said nervously, "I suppose this is where he took us. He told us you knew him and that you'd let us in."
Utterly amazed and confused Sherlock looked at the girl again, waiting for her explanation. She laughed,
"Yes, like he said, this is where he took us. I hope it's not an inconvenience for you but we needed a safe house."
"Who brought you here? Who are you?" Sherlock was starting to get really, really angry. He needed answers, and he couldn't cope if he didn't get any.
"Oh, where are my manners!" The girl laughed again. "I'm Amy Pond, and this," she walked over and placed her arm over the man's shoulders, "Is Rory. The one who brought us here told us that you were friends with him?"
"Well, that does depend on who you are talking about, who is 'he?'" Sherlock asked, his eyes boring into Amy's, filled with utter rage and confusion.
"The Doctor."