Detective Sergeant Amelia Pond was having one hell of a day. It began (or at least she thought it did) with a triple murder in the basement of the local hospital. In reality, her day probably started at 5 A.M, when she was woken up by her mobile ringing right next to her ear. She fell out of bed, scrambled for the phone, answered it, and spit hair out of her mouth.
I regret to say that the rest of her day went just as badly, with the possible exception of the ten minutes between 11:34 and 11:45 in the morning. What happened in those ten minutes was a turning point in the life of DS Amelia Pond, and would begin a most curious and mutually beneficial friendship.
What happened in those ten minutes was that Amelia met Rory.

~*~*~/*/~*~*~

Reverend Rory Williams wasn't having a wonderful day either. His alarm woke him at 7:30, as usual. He got the newspaper, as usual. He poured a bowl of cereal, as usual. He turned on the news. The crime correspondent was talking about a murder, just two streets over. Rory put down the newspaper. They showed photographs of all three victims, and Rory began to feel sick.
He knew these people. They came to morning mass every Sunday. A mother, a father, a son. And now they were dead. People weren't used to murders in Leadworth, you see, and as they were such a small town, everybody was quite close. Rory especially enjoyed getting to know his parishioners. He took a deep breath. He cleaned out the bowl of cereal.
And then Rory went to work, because that was how Rory was.

~*~*~*/~*/~*~*~

Amy got to the scene at 5:57, and had to elbow past a few annoying bystanders. She was holding three cups of take-away coffee and a raspberry danish, so this was no easy feat. She tossed the danish easily at the Constable manning the yellow tape, calling to him, "Here Eleven. When'd you get here?" She was still moving, eyes fixed on the cellar doors.

"Four-ish," he called back, nibbling on the end of his pastry. "Is there a bird in my ear?" Amy blinked for a moment, zoned out.

"Huh, what? No. Take your pills, Eleven." She kept walking, still musing on what she'd find at the end of the stairs.

"Press here yet?" She asked, handing the second coffee cup to the tall, scruffy Inspector at the mouth of the doors.

"No, but they will be." He took a sip, staring pensievely down at a blood stain. "You think we should call twelve in?" Amy cocked her head for a moment, absently thinking that the blood stain looked like a bit like a rabbit, before shaking her head.

"Triple murder? Nah. I wouldn't call anyone until we reach serial killer." He nodded, and she started down the stairs. "Oh! And Ten," He looked back down at her. "Get Eleven to find next-of-kin. I don't think anyone's done it yet."

The basement was cold and lit with yellow bulbs. The floor was dusty beneath her black shoes, and Amy figured it was probably some combination of sand and sawdust. It was clumped red and purple around the bodies. Each one seemed to have had their head nearly removed, but instead of leaving it at that, the killer had tilted their heads at such an angle that they'd bleed more slowly. Amy winced as Martha tilted one so she could see the severed spinal cord.

"Who would do this?" She asked, stepping carefully around a pool of blood.

"No clue," Donna shrugged, fiddling with a lollipop. Amy grimaced.

"How can you eat that in here? Isn't it unsanitary?" Martha flashed a smug smile at Donna.

"I said so, but she wouldn't listen."

"Press are here," Ten dropped in to gasp out. Donna strode confidently up the stairs after allowing Ten to dispense some sage advice to Amy.

"Go talk to family and friends. And remember, poke old ladies with sticks before you pronounce the cause of death." Donna spirited him away after that, and Amy and Martha had the wholly unpleasant task of of being alone in a creepy basement with three dead bodies and a lot of blood.

"Cause of Death was decapitation," Martha noted, and Amy decided taking notes might be the best course of action as her two superiors were currently pulling the clown act to keep the media away from the bodies. "Severed spinal cord and esophagus, spine fractured but intact... I'd say the killer used a large knife to sever the head, then their hands to pull it back." She shook her head, and Amy did her best not to wince. "I'll know more after post-mortem."

"Thanks, Marth." Amy said, relieved to leave. "See you later."

"You too," she replied vacantly, still stuck in her bodies.

~*/~*/~*/~*/~

"So I got next-of-kin and names from Eleven," Donna began in the middle, striding calmly over to her desk. "And apparently our victims' names were Sally Nightingale, her husband Larry, and their son Billy." Ten allowed a sudden pained look come across his face.

"What is it? Did you know them?" He nodded, and Donna laid her hand on his shoulder. Amy sighed.

"They were, um, they used to live next-door to me. They were lovely people, ran a video shop." Donna nodded, absorbing this.

"Amybe you should take the day off," she suggested. "Come back in the morning tomorrow."

"I'll do next-of-kin," Amy said quickly, eager to relieve the workload of her now-solemn friend.

"Thanks, and ask if there's anyone else we oughta talk to, yeah?" Amy nodded, tucking her hair back into it's bun.

She left the police station at 10:26. The most remarkable thing to happen that day to Amelia Pond would happen at 11:39, and it would begin with a rubber duck. Larry's sister, Kathy, lived at number 21 west Brookglen Street, and as Amy approached the door, she made note of several spare keys hidden (very badly) in the bushes.

"Kathy Nightengale? Amy Pond, I'm with the police." She held up her badge, and the woman seemed completely mystified as to why Amy was there.

"I'm sorry, why are you here?" Amy frowned and tucked her badge in her pocket.

"Didn't- weren't you called?" Kathy smiled and shook her head.

"About what?"

Ten minutes later, Amy was retrieving a second box of tissues from the hall closet when a bin of small rubber animals fell all over her. The crash must have been loud enough to hear from the sitting room, because Kathy's sniffling was coming from the doorway instead of a distance.

"I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to-" Kathy shook her head again.

"Don't bother. I've been keeping those for the Reverend for god knows how long." She sniffled again, and pointed waveringly at the bin. "He's someone you should talk to. Reverend Williams. They went to his church." Amy nodded and profferred the box of tissues. Kathy took three more and blew her nose.

And so it was that at 11:29 Amy was making her way up the street to Leadworth's one and only church. It was surrounded by trees, and there was a cobblestone drive leading up to it. It was rather pretty, and Amy found herself remembering her visits to the church throughout her childhood. She forgot to keep walking, and a sudden impact to the back of her head statled her.

"Oh! Why hello," a voice came from behind her, and she turned to find herself face-to-face with a woman she'd never met before. This alone was strange, as Amy'd met mostly everyone in town, but the woman had an odd look about her, too. She was wearing stretch leggings and a long, loose shirt. She had very wide hazel eyes and a veritable halo of pale hair, and she gave Amy the oddest feeling. "I'm Professor River Song."

"Oh please not another one," Amy blurted.

"What was that?" The woman asked good-naturedly.

"I know a lot of Doctors and Professors, that's all." Amy smiled tightly. "Very sorry, do excuse me." She edged around the blonde woman and dashed up the remaining drive.

It may have been rude, she supposed, but, Amy mused as she peeked around the heavy wooden door, she did have a job to do.

"Hello," a voice called behind her for the second time in as many minutes, and Amy swiveled, professional police bun finally coming undone after so much stress. Her first impression consisted mainly of duckling-down hair, dark clothes and a white collar.

~*~*/~*/~*~

He was drawn from his office by the skitter of loose gravel on wood and the click of the door opening. He was greeted with the strange sight of a policewoman peeking timidly around the doorframe of the Nave like a small child. She was tall, and wearing a rather short skirt, and he found himself questioning her legitimacy based solely on that. That outfit could not be very comfortable to run in, but her shoes were thick-soled and matte black, and looked as though they had been dipped in sawdust.

"Hello," he called, and she let out a truly frightened squeak and spun around. This dislodged her hat, and with it her hair, which fell around her shoulders like waves of copper or butterscotch. Her eyes were wide and green, and had the same look seen on the face of someone about to hit you over the head with a frying pan.

"Hi." She blinked.

"Hello," he repeated. "I'm Rory. Reverend Rory WIlliams." At this, she relaxed and smiled, pulling a badge from her pocket.

"Amy Pond, I'm with the police." He nodded, remembering the sketchy and incomplete news report from that morning. "I was just wondering if I could have a minute of your time?"

"Of course, is there anything I can do to help?" She smiled wistfully and shook her head. "What is it?"

"It's nothing, it's just- everyone says that." He smiled back at her.

"I mean it, though." And at this his smile faded. "The Nightengales were good people."

"They were," she agreed.

"You knew them?"

"No, but a friend of mine did." Her phone rang, and she grimaced and made an apologetic gesture towards her pocket. "Pond. Yeah- Eleven, what are you doing? No, I'm at the church. Why do you ask-?" She went dead silent for a moment, biting her lip. "Oh no." She looked at the phone as whoever was on the other end hung up. "Oh no no no."

"What is it?" His mind scrambled, thinking of another murder, a house fire, an accident. Instead, what she said was:

"Eleven's coming." She swept down the aisle, shoving her phone into her pocket.

"Eleven?" He raised an eyebrow and followed her. "Who's Eleven, and why is his name a number?"

"You'd never believe me. Never."

"Try me," he quipped dryly, and she laughed a little.

"There have been twelve Dr. John Smiths working at Leadworth Police. Twelve, all with the same name. So instead of calling them all 'John' all the time, we call them by the order in which they came." Throughout all this she was rummaging through one of the psalm books in a pew near the front.

"Wow." She nodded at his exclamation. "Why is it bad that Eleven's coming- and why are you doing that?" He asked as she tossed the psalm book at him. She turned back to him and scrunched up her face.

"Eleven's a bit-" The door flew open and slammed into the wall, a group of men in blue scrubs marching in. The policewoman closed her eyes resignedly. "Mad."

"Hello Vicar!" Eleven called, skipping over. Amy hid her face in her palms and whispered to herself. "Hello Amelia!"

"I don't know you." She mumbled through her fingers.

"Of course you do!" He turned to Rory and slapped his palms over the poor man's cheeks. "Rory my dear boy! Would you like to help solve a crime?" Amy looked up, horrified and frantically made slashing motions over her throat at Rory, who was terribly confused. "Do you give us permission to examine yoru innermost secrets? WIll you let us strip this building for evidence?"

"Sure?" Rory tried, and Eleven exploded with joy.

"Marvelous! Fantastic! Geronimo!" Amy shook her head.

"You shouldn't have done that," she said to Rory as Eleven and his minions became a whirlwind in the church.

"Why not?"

"That's permission enough to search this place. They must be having the time of their lives." Rory looked over at her, and the small smile on her lips was directed at him.

"Really, though, is there anything I can do to help?"

"Did they mention anyone new to you? Anything suspicious?"

"They were excited about their new house. They did mention their new neighbors several times. And there have been people hanging about outside the church," he mentioned thoughtfully.

"Thanks."

"I'm glad to help, really."

It was 11:45 on a Thursday morning, and Amelia Pond's life had just taken an abrupt left turn.

~*/~*/~*/~

"So, what's this?" Amy asked, pointing to a squiggle on the whiteboard that vaguely resembled an umbrella.

"That's a twenty," Eleven said through a mouthful of fish finger.

"Of course it is," Amy muttered, erasing and rewriting it. Thus far, they had a rather empty board of suspects. Much to her chagrin, Amy had tacked Reverend Williams' photo in their suspect circle, but moments later, Eleven had pulled it down, cheerily affirming that Reverend Williams very likely had nothing to do with the murders, and that there was no evidence in his or the Nightengales' house to say otherwise.

"Pond!" Ten called from the hallway, "Go talk to the neighbors! Donna's got the media by the hair. There'll be nobody to interfere! Oh, and pick up the priest, too will you? He might be able to point out our suspect."

"Aaaaaand off I go," Amy muttered, spinning her chair in a circle before jumping up to get her coat. "Into the wild."

On her way out, Amy was stopped by a vicious and unceasing honking from a despicably stylish (yet undeniably ugly) car.

"Are you gettin' in then?" came the expected shout from inside it, and Amy, stifling a smile, slid into the passenger seat.

"Hey Twelve. I thought you were in Edinburgh?"

"I heard you interviewed a priest and Eleven went nutter again. Do we have to pay damages this time?"

"No, although we should probably apologize. Last I saw of his office it was a burning wreck." Which was a lie. It was very upended, and possibly unusable, but nothing was burning. Poor Reverend Williams had been floored already by the murders, and sticking him with Eleven felt a bit much.

"Why, is he rich?"

"Not that I know of."

"Is he influential? Attractive? Why should we apologize?" twelve snorted.

"Because we ruined his day?" Amy answered.

"Three people he knew are dead. I think his day was already ruined."

"What on Earth is that?" Rory asked no one in particular, watching as what appeared to be a midnight-blue Chevrolet Impala hurtled down the street, making an odd whooshing noise that Rory was fairly sure it wasn't supposed to be making. "What on Earth-?" he asked again, as it screeched to a halt next to him. Amy flung open the backseat door.

"We call it the TARDIS." She smiled.

"Get in, Vicar. We're going mystery-solving!" There was an older scottish man in the front seat, and he seemed rather impatient. Rory debated for a moment before deciding to get in.

"What's a TARDIS?" He asked Amy.

"Tacky-Ass Rubbish Dump of Irresistible Splendour," she replied quickly. "It's horrible, but you can't help but love it."

"I suppose so," Rory sighed, settling into the back seat.

TBC