"I want to see the stars, and I want you to come with me."
It's one of the last things Amelia Pond had ever said to him, right before he had left. She was sixteen and the most dangerous firecracker he had ever seen in a town too small to contain her spark. He had to get away, before she exploded. He had to leave, because if he was engulfed in her flames he'd never get out. Sentiment is a chemical defect often found in the losing side; why stay and lose when he could leave and win? Be something bigger than the gangly, obnoxious teen that spent his time with the weird younger kids and become a Consulting Detective that nobody would want to mess with.
They still laugh at him, though. You never really escape the bullies of childhood. They follow you in different forms; hide away in the shadows like monsters ready to strike. Like the monsters in the crack of her wall. But he pays no attention to them. Not really. He has John and John is enough to help him keep away from the darkness of their words. He hasn't touched the cocaine buried deep within a crevice of his wardrobe since before his friend moved in, and he hasn't even considered doing so since they shared their first kiss.
Sentiment is still something he will refuse to embrace, but with John it doesn't really feel like sentiment. He is a man, not a woman. He is a bed companion, not a lover. It's easier to open up to John because it's easier to keep him out. Of course he loves him. Of course he cares about him; cares so deeply that his heart burns at the thought of harm laying even the softest of touches upon him, but he finds John bearable. The love may burn but at least it doesn't leave scars, because as much as it would upset Sherlock he knows he could return to being friends with John in a heartbeat, and it wouldn't hurt half as much as it did leaving her behind, and they weren't even together.
It's a Tuesday when Sherlock allows himself to talk about her, and it's only because Mycroft's incessant attempts to discomfort his brother with the ghost of her name is beginning to tire him. John's familiar eyes are curious and worrisome as they meet his partner's own.
"Who is she?"
"An old friend."
"Friend," Mycroft scoffs, gleefully enjoying the glare he receives from Sherlock. Will this bickering ever end between them? Must they really continue to act like children, even when one helps solve the toughest of criminal riddles and the other practically runs the planet?
"Believe it or not, Mycroft, that is all it was. She was a friend. My closest friend… If that's what you want to call it. Or as close to a friend as I had ever got during childhood; that is all you need to know."
But Mycroft had planted not just one seed but many, and John's mind had the name Amelia Pond embedded too deep to just 'let it go'. The seeds began to grow and his curiosity increased; he began by questioning Sherlock about his childhood, and when he refused to answer John started asking during times when refusing would be unfair. One night, after a particularly disturbing incident involving John saving Sherlock from near-death, John asked again and Sherlock found himself explaining everything in one sentence.
"What does it matter? What does she matter to you? She's getting married in the morning!"
Sherlock had never understood Rory Williams. He was like a devoted pup and Amelia his owner. She tried to get Sherlock to dress up as her Raggedy Doctor, once, but he had point-blank refused to be seen as her 'stupid imaginary friend'. She had been offended and stomped off; well, her temper was always as fiery as her hair. He had almost called her back, to finish the sentence, but found himself too scared to do so. Silly, silly Amelia, not realizing he refused simply because he was not her Doctor. He was Sherly, with that exact stupid nickname and an overactive mind for a child his age, and he would never leave her like that Doctor did. Sherlock hated the Doctor, not because he was imaginary, but because she devoted so much love to him and he really didn't deserve it. But, of course, he blamed his hatred for the man on him being the product of make believe.
He didn't hate fairy tales. Not until then.
It has been eleven years, since then. Just three since he moved away, and two months since he discovered the news of her wedding. Rory invited him and said everything he could to convince his old friend that Amy wants him to be there, but it must have been a little bit too long, because Sherlock could tell from the tone of his voice, the nervous stammer and the pauses between certain words that he was lying. He doesn't attend in the end. He spends the night with John instead, and feels guilty the morning after because he hadn't wanted to. Sherlock had been imagining someone else laid beside him; kissing someone else's lips, stroking long tresses of red hair and wondering what her Scottish accent would sound like in the bedroom…
It has been five years since Sherlock Holmes moved away from Leadworth when a strange blue box materializes in his living room.
"But I… No, it can't be… What-?"
"I told you he was real!"
That voice. That beautiful, familiar, wonderful voice. The tone is one he would have argued with, under any other circumstance, but he is too flabbergasted by the Police Box in his living room to shoot sharp comments her way. Then she is pushing the door open, and a head of fiery red hair appears, and he finds she looks just as beautiful as she had when she told him that she hated him for leaving her. And perhaps, in the end, he was worse than the Doctor, because at least he really did come back for her.
"Amelia Pond," Sherlock chuckles breathlessly, "You impossible girl…"
"I heard you're a consulting detective, now," She drawls, exiting the TARDIS and walking towards him. Suddenly he feels a sharp sting form on his cheek. She's slapped him. "That is for never calling, you bastard!"
"I've missed you too!" He bellows, pulling her in to a hug so tight she can't breathe.
"I'm not taking any excuses," She says as they pull away, "I recall telling you a very long time ago that I wanted something from you…"
"You're married, and I have a boyfriend," He grins.
"Sherlock Holmes flirting; never thought I'd see the day. Not that, stupid. Not anything too major… Just come and see the stars with me."
And just like that, because she was Amelia Pond, he did.