Amy Pond was walking her pet rock one day, when she bumped into a tall, dark, and handsome man. "I'm ever so sorry, I didn't see you," Amy apologised.
"You're walking a rock," the man said incredulously.
"Yes," Amy said defiantly, "he's my best friend."
"Oh, I see. Friends elude me," the man muttered. "Would you like to come for tea?"
Amy's mouth dropped open. "Erm, I was actually on my way back to my husband. We're playing bingo tonight with our daughter who's actually older than us and is married to my best friend, even though I only gave birth to her a few months ago."
"They will be able to cope without you, or your rock," the man dismissed. "Come, Amy."
"How did you know my name?" Amy gasped. "Did you figure it out by deducing tiny hidden details about me which come up as a selection of contemporary fonts that no ordinary man could see?"
"No," the man answered, "you're wearing a name badge. It says, 'Hello, my name is Amy Pond. If found, please return to Rory,' followed by an address."
"Oh," Amy replied sadly. "I've always wanted to meet someone who was clever enough to deduce things. The Doctor can, sometimes, but he doesn't count. HE DOESN'T EVEN HAVE A MEDICAL DEGREE."
"My name is Sherlock," Sherlock told her, patting her on the head. "Come and meet John. He does have a medical degree. I don't, but I'm super anyway."
"Superman?" Amy wondered out loud.
"Only on Tuesdays," Sherlock replied.
The pair traipsed to 221b Baker Street, which took them a week as they were in Yorkshire when they met.
"Home sweet home," Sherlock said as he opened the door.
Dead men and women were piled up in the flat, their bodies rotting.
"JOHN!" Sherlock bellowed. "Why are these bodies not in the morgue?"
John Watson appeared, eating a buttered crumpet and spilling crumbs on his oatmeal-coloured knitted jumper. "Sorry, Sherlock, but in the week that you were away, Lestrade needed your help solving the mystery of thirty seperate deaths. Moriarty's work, I assumed. Anyway, he left the bodies here, so you could deduce them when you got home."
"Oh, thank you, John, you're amazing. This is the best birthday ever!" Sherlock said gleefully, his eyes brimming with excitement.
Amy cleared her throat. "Hi, I'm Amy, and this is Rocky," she said awkwardly, waving at John over Sherlock's pointed shoulder.
"Sorry about all the mess, Amy. I did ask Mrs Hudson to clean it up, but she told me that she 'wasn't a housekeeper' and hit me with her broom. You're not Sherlock's….?"
"God, no, I'm married," Amy rushed. "I thought you and him were –"
"Would you like some tea?" John interrupted quickly, blushing furiously. "Be warned, the teabags are full of powdered human fingers."
"Sounds delicious!" Amy cried. "I love PG Tips!
John, Amy, and Rocky got to know each other over the tea, whilst Sherlock walked around each body, deducing facts about them that the police had missed.
"I just can't work out how they died!" Sherlock said suddenly, gritting his teeth in frustration. "It's so odd!"
"Sherlock?" Amy asked timidly. "Would you like Rocky to help? He always makes me think clearer."
Sherlock snorted. "Don't be ridiculous. This deerstalker could help me more than that rock, and it has TWO FRONTS." He thrust it on his head to demonstrate.
"But Rocky has many fronts, Sherlock. God knows which way the real front is. I may be holding him arse-up right now," Amy admitted.
"I see. Well, there's no harm in trying," Sherlock sighed. He plonked the smallish rock atop his hat, his eyes widening slightly as he did so.
"What is it?" Amy asked nervously.
"It's so… exhilarating!" Sherlock gasped. "The rock, it's helping me solve the mystery!"
"And?" John said excitedly. "What happened to all of these people?"
Sherlock paused for dramatic effect. "They were… MURDERED."
Amy and John looked at each other. Neither one of them said anything for a few moments. Eventually, it was John who spoke.
"Well, Sherlock, that was… BRILLIANT!" he exclaimed. "How did you know that?"
"I AM GENIUS," yelled Sherlock. Amy backed away slowly, worried for her life and for Rocky, who was still balanced precariously on Sherlock's deerstalker.
"No! Rocky!" Amy cried, as her best friend slipped off the hat and started to fall towards the floor.
"I'll save him!" John exclaimed, leaping in front of Sherlock. Rocky, in that moment, came alive just in time to see John's attempt at rescue and aimed his fall onto man's soft jumper. John's face screwed up in pain as the rock bounced off his side and into Amy's waiting hands. Rocky then became inanimate again.
Watching the commotion, Sherlock became aroused by John's sacrifice and excitedly stripped to his waist.
Amy's face froze as she watched Sherlock rip off his purple shirt and deerstalker, noticing his erect nipples. She glanced at John, who was still laying at Sherlock's feet, clutching his side, oblivious to Sherock's excitement.
"Come, Rocky, we'll leave the boys in peace," Amy whispered, exiting the room as quietly as she could.
"John!" Sherlock shouted, his hands on his hips. "We shall have buttsex now, FOR SCIENCE, for I have deduced that you are sexy."
"Sherlock, I –" John was interrupted by the half-naked man pulling him up by his arms, onto his feet.
"Hush, John. Buttsex now, talking later," Sherlock whispered seductively, dragging John by the sleeve towards the bedroom.
"No!" John bellowed. "No, Sherlock. There will be no buttsex today. I have something to tell you."
"You're straight, I knew it. DAMN YOU, JOHN, AND YOUR HETEROSEXUAL WAYS!" Sherlock wailed, dropping John's arm and pouting.
"No, no, that's not it," John reassured. "I'm so gay, I make roundabouts look straight. But… I have no penis. Or bum. They got blown off in Afghanistan. I'm sorry."
Sherlock frowned, his eyes dropping lower to inspect John's crotch. "But I can see a bulge! And a… bum-shape," he said, confused.
"I have a removable prosthetic bum and penis, so I can still wear trousers without trouble," John explained. "I'm actually smooth like a Barbie down there."
"Like a Ken, surely?" Sherlock gasped.
"No, not even like a Ken."
"Well, I still want to do sexual things with you, John. Suck my dick, Barbie."
That is how John got the nickname 'Barbie.'