SPOILERS FOR SEASON 3

What if it wasn't just Dr John Watson who lost someone on the roof that fateful day?

Just a one-shot attempt at another reunion between our favourite Consulting Detective and those he left when he jumped off the roof. Be gentle and kind! Sherlock/OC (ish)

Loved? Lost?

'Still wear the same perfume.'

'Still the same arsehole.'

Sherlock could not process his feelings as he heard her voice again, filling every corner of 221B, it had been two years since he heard her speak; and a small smile pulled at the corner of his mouth as he let her first sentence sink in.

Amy had only dreamed of hearing his voice again, those deep tones brought back so many memories of laughter, near death experiences; and missed opportunities. She fought the urge to rush to him, and embrace him, smiling as she imagined his inability to return the hug.

Sherlock turned from the window, which he was stood looking out from, his eyes unable to look anywhere else but at the woman in front of him; his mind unable to stop deducing her.

Train journey

New cat

Glasgow

Ink on left hand

New boots

Rain

Same Coat

Hair unchanged

Single.

'Get all the information you were looking for?' Amy took a small step into the living room, noticing as Sherlock mirrored her ever so slightly. She did not notice the breath she was holding, as he stood in front of her, his skin still pale, the white shirt he was wearing seemed a bit tighter; giving away some weight gain. Or muscle. And his blue eyes as piercing as ever. But this time they held something else in them, other than the look of a man who knows everything to know about everything.

Sherlock looked down to his hands, not wanting to forget the woman in front of him, how her brown hair fell passed her shoulders, or her cheeks were rouged slightly from the wind and her make-up. But her round blue eyes were not filled with the same childish joy they once were back when he, John and Amy would be on a case. They were cold. Hurt.

'Glasgow nice this time of year?'

'Cut the crap. You're supposed to be dead. You died. You jumped. Remember? We spoke on the phone. You said some stuff, I said some stuff and then I had to watch your lifeless, bloody body get taken into St Barts and then be carried out in a coffin.'

'Amy'

'You died and left me, Sherlock. Left me. For TWO YEARS.'

Sherlock flinched at the sudden volume of the usually soft and light voice,

'Amy'

'And I find out by a newspaper headline. No visit, phone call; not even a text.'

'In my defense, I haven't got your number. Besides, I have no idea where you live now or…'

Amy stepped further forward, 'the great consulting detective has no idea where one person is in London.'

'Well I don't know everyone in London, and those I do know lived here. Or are Gavin and Molly.'

'Greg.'

'Whatever.' Sherlock couldn't suppress his smile at the lighter exchange with the young woman, and even Amy's eyes softened ever so slightly. 'I can tell you how I survived, there were thirteen poss…'

SMASH

The detective jumped at the sound of an ashtray smashing against the wall, and the young woman stood closer to him still; her breathing heavy and eyes filled with rage.

'I don't care if there was a million different ways you on the roof played out, Sherlock, all I cared about was that you didn't die.'

He stepped further forward still, 'and I didn't die. Does know one care how I did it? John punched me.' He raised his hands in the air and dropped them by his side in emphatic disbelief.

Amy folded her arms across her chest, the motion not going unnoticed by Sherlock. 'But you did die. I saw you die. I tried for two years to forget that you had died, tried to stop loving you. And yet, here you are. And I have to find out you are here from a newspaper headline. Trust me, the man wasn't happy when I snatched the paper from his hands either.' She could not take her eyes off the man in front of her, neither of them looking away. The sound of rain tapping against the window finally broke the stare between the two, and despite how close they stood, both could feel how apart they were.

'Keep your eyes fixed on me. Please, will you do this for me? John, pass the phone to Amy.'

Both Amy and John stood on the road, helpless as their best friend was upon the roof of St Barts hospital. Panic rose as Amy took the phone, not allowing herself to take her eyes off the man on the roof.

'Sherlock, what's going on? Come down. Please?' Tears fell from her face, and her voice broke ever so slightly.

Sherlock closed his eyes tightly, not wishing this to be his last conversation with the young woman; but yet he knew it was. 'Amy, remember when we first met? And you called me an arsehole, and I said…'

'That my eyes were too close together, and I was the most stupid woman you have ever met. How could I forget.' She tried to smile as the memory came flooding back, but dread was all she could feel.

'I have never been good with the human things Amy, having friends, or being polite. Or recognising beauty. And love.'

'Sherlock, just come down.'

'You see, Amy, if I was more like John, or other men, it would be simple.'

'I don't want you to be like John, or other men.'

'You will learn to forgive me, and move on. I promise, Amy Harlow.'

'Why are you telling me this? Sherlock. John and I don't care what's happened, just come down safely and we can move on. Together.'

'Amy. Goodbye.'

The phone clicked off, and Amy's eyes widened as she turned to John who looked just as panicked. Her eyes were filled with tears, and then it happened. Like slow motion. The man, who she had known for years, was falling further and further down, and it was only the shout of Sherlock's name that brought her out of her reverie.

Amy was so lost in the event which saw her world collapse around her, that she did not realise the tears that were making their way down her face, the pain of never being able to move on washing over her; conflicted with the betrayal she felt by the Holmes man stood in front of her. But as soon as she felt his arms wrap around her, and felt the fabric of his shirt on her face; the tears didn't stop.

'I am sorry.' Sherlock looked down at the young brunette, and felt his breath vanish as he saw her blue eyes transfixed on his; the fear creeping back in.

'The famous Sherlock Holmes is comforting someone?' Amy moved out of the embrace, resting her hand on his chest taking in every part of the young man.

'Well, I was watching videos about napkins on YouTube, and then I was reading about weddings, and people getting all emotional; and it suggested this was the best way to soothe someone.'

'You were going to hug someone if they cried at a wedding?'

'I was only going to hug one person, at the wedding, that is if they accepted the invitation.'

'I'm pretty sure John will be at his own wedding, and Mary will have him to give the hugs to and accept them from.'

'I mean you. That's if you will, if you want to, and you aren't busy; come to the wedding with me.'

'Sherlock.' It was merely a whisper.

'I'm the best man, and have to do a speech, and would be grateful for the support. Plus, I think you would look good in a dress; the convention at weddings I'm told. But don't wear white, something about brides; who knew human rituals could have so many rules.' His eyes glistened with a look of mischief hidden in the blue iris'.

'You are still human under all that...stuff, Sherlock. Despite your best efforts to convince people otherwise.' Amy smiled, and it was a warmer smile, which reminded Sherlock of the woman she was before he left, and that made him feel warm; the slight scowl on his face in response to his emotions spotted by Amy.

'I'd rather hoped you'd forgiven me by now. It was a dying request of mine.'

'You never died.'

'Meaning you will never forgive me?'

'Meaning I never got over you.'

'Amy Harlow, will you go to the wedding with me?' His breath hitched slightly, the confliction between his head and his heart felt loud and painful; warmth alien to him, like when he found out he was a best friend.

'I thought love was a dangerous disadvantage?'

'It is. But these past two years have been difficult. I have never been so alone, Amy.'

The young brunette looked with a new-found curiosity, this man was not the same Sherlock she had lost, but was the Sherlock she loved. Loves. The urge to hold the man in front of her was almost overwhelming, but instead she moved closer to him. Her lips pressed ever so slightly against the oddly still ones of the Holmes man, she could visibly see the fear, uncertainty and panic in his eyes.

'Amy?' Sherlock held the woman away from his face, trying to read the situation, but could only feel her slipping out of his grasp, her black coat no longer the fabric beneath his fingers, the scene around him changing before he was ready.

'No, Amy. AMY.'

'Sherlock? What's going on? Why are you shouting?!'

Mrs Hudson stood with John in the doorway, where Amy was standing only seconds before; he was sure of it. The man could feel the room spin around him, the perfume lingering; his lips tingled from her presence. Sherlock dropped the paper, and collapsed himself, not listening to the rushed voices of his landlady or best friend.

'Oh no.' John picked the newspaper up as he knelt by Sherlock's side. Mrs Hudson gasped.

"London Woman Found Dead in Glasgow Station."

The sound of Sherlock's phone brought him out of his mind, and he read the words over and over:

'Proof that love is your disadvantage Mr Holmes. If only you hadn't died, you could have saved her. The game is ON.'

So, please be gentle.