Chapter two - The Mad Man With a Blue Box.
*221B Baker Street - London*

"Molly … Molly… Moll!" John shouts, clicking his fingers in front of my face, dragging my attention, unwillingly, from the magical blue box and it's odd-looking occupants. My mind spins with questions, the main one being how did two people in a blue box materialize.
"Molly, are you ok?" John asks, steadying my hand holding the glass of wine, before it spills.
I nod once again, letting my eyes wander back to the pair standing beside the huge royal blue telephone box. How did it get there, is it magic?
I look at the man, long and gangly, with a bow tie, he reminds me of a wacky children's entertainer, bounding around the room, looking all around. Maybe that's what this is, a magic trick. Maybe the redheaded girl is his assistant, but why the Victorian outfit and why does she look so shocked? Shouldn't she know what's going on and be all showy and hostess like about it. I mean, she looks like a show girl; with the long red locks, even longer legs and striking beauty, but I don't understand the concept of the outfit, nor his for that matter.

She stands there motionless, her eyes dilated wide and looks almost entranced by something beside me, or rather someone. I look to Sherlock, who's sat so close to me I can smell the lavender scented washing powder on his suit. He's staring at her, with the same vacant expression, only there's a curl to his pale melon colored lips.
"Amelia?" Slips from his mouth, his eyes still transfixed on hers. "Amelia Pond!"
Her face breaks into the biggest smile I've ever seen, flashing a set of perfect white teeth and she lets out a little laugh. "Oh my god," She squeals in a strong Scottish accent. "Sherlock Holmes!"
"What, you two know each other?" The strange man asks, pointing from Sherlock, to the girl and back again, as Sherlock jumps up, knocking my arm and the wine all over me and my new white dress.
I jump in shock, as the coldness hits my skin, but I quickly snap my attention back to Sherlock.

I try and remember him ever mentioning anyone called 'Amelia' in the five years I've known him, but my mind draws a blank. Amelia Pond … it's such a lovely name, kind of fairy tale like, and it suits her so well, she looks so pretty.
I swallow hard as Sherlock's arms snap around the fairy tale girl, sending streams of red hair all over the place as he squeezes her against his thin frame and spins her around once in his embrace. Her lips stretch from ear to ear as she squeezes her eyes shut and clings tightly to him.

There's something deep inside me that falls apart as I watch him with her. He looks so happy. It's the first time I've ever seen him have any form of emotional or physical contact with anyone, apart from Mrs Hudson, who he occasionally gives a sly peck on the cheek.
I bite my lips together, feeling a sharp twinge in my stomach and my throat develop a huge lump. To distract myself, I look at the pink stain from the wine that is forming on my dress, my heart slowly sinking. I only bought this dress because I thought maybe, just once, maybe Sherlock would see me as a person, rather than just that girl who works at the hospital who lets him use her equipment. And now my dress is completely ruined.

"Amy," The strange mad looking man calls, stepping so close to Sherlock and the girl. "Do you mind enlightening me, who exactly are you hugging?"
"Yeah, Sherlock." John also chips in. "Who are they?" He gestures to the mad man and the girl, as if that's the most important question.
Am I the only one who's slightly more concerned about how they ended up here in the first place?
The man jumps and stands in front of John, Mrs Hudson and me, clapping his hands and rubbing them together. "This is Amy, Amelia Pond," He gestures to the tall girl still in Sherlock's arms, my eyes fixing on them again and my heart hammering inside me a little harder. "And I'm The Doctor." He says proudly, throwing his hands behind his back leaning forwards on his feet, then backwards again as if expecting us to respond in some way.
"Doctor?" Mrs Hudson asks, producing a small bottle of whisky from her dress pocket and pouring a little into her cup of tea. I guess she needs that after seeing a mad man and a woman jump out of a magic police box. "Doctor who?"
He beams even brighter than before. "Just The Doctor."

That's a funny name I think to myself, picking up the cloth on the table and dabbing it on my dress, looking at Sherlock and Amy through my eyelashes. He let's go of her as I look up, and they look each other over a few times, big smiles still pasted to their faces.
He never smiles at anyone like that. Ever.
"Pond," The Doctor spins around, his coat whirling around his legs, putting an arm around Amy's shoulders and standing in front of Sherlock. "Who's this then?"
She shakes her head a little, turning to face The Doctor. "A friend, a very old friend." She almost whispers.
"As old as me?" He says with a laugh, as if it's an inside joke, then turns back to us. "No one could be as old as me."
I frown. He only looks about thirty years old, maximum, what's he going on about?
"No." Amy giggles. "I met him at the psychiatrists, because of you." She says the last half of that sentence a little spitefully.

I never knew Sherlock had seen a psychiatrist. He never said, then again, I don't suppose it's a topic you're likely to bring up of your own accord.

"Yeah, and you are?" Sherlock questions, looking over The Doctor, with that same piercing glare he always gives when he meets new people. "Actually no, let me guess." He pauses and looks over the man for a second.
John gives a sigh and rolls his eyes, sitting back down beside me. "Here we go again, the showing off."
I smile. He's always done this thing, every time he meets someone new. He tells them their own life story, just by looking at them. It's amazing. Although, he's never done it with me. I don't even think he knows my last name. I don't suppose I count. The only reason I came here today was because John invited me, Sherlock barely even looks at me, even when he comes the hospital to use my things, he barely makes conversation.

"Ah," He gasps, pressing his fingers together and triumphantly grinning. "You're the imaginary friend. You met her when she was little, and left her. You said you'd come back but you got the timing wrong. That's where I come in. But out of duty you came back a few weeks ago, in our time anyway. You're trying to make it up to her, for leaving that little girl alone in the dark. But you're also trying to compensate for your own mistakes, by taking people away with you. You try to show them things they wouldn't even dream of, just so you don't feel empty because you've seen it all before. You make them see things, just so you feel alive and not just dead inside. " There's a long pause as a sharp is glare between the two men is exchanged. "You're lonely …" he trails off.

The room is silent. No one quite knowing what to say. Until Mrs Hudson chips in. "Tea anyone?"
"Tea!" The Doctor cries, ignoring everything Sherlock has just said and suddenly changing the deep and heavy atmosphere. "Ooh I love tea! Tea and biscuits. No!" He gasps contradicting himself. "Tea and Jammie Dodgers!" He sounds like a hyperactive child.
Mrs Hudson laughs, getting to her feet. "I'm the landlady, dear, not a confectionery goddess, but I'll see what I can do." She vanishes out of the door and down the stairs into the darkness.
"Landlady ay!" The Doctor says with a cheeky tone and a wink Sherlock, after she's no longer in earshot. "Nice lady you've got there Shirley, but might I inquire as to why you've got your landlady in your flat?"

I sit there, looking agog. Not knowing what to say or how to react. Everyone seems to just be ignoring the fact that there's a magical blue box plonked in the middle of the living room. A box that has just appeared out of thin air, with a mad man and one of Sherlock's old friends inside. I am the only one who can't get past that? Everyone seems so blasé about it. And Sherlock's acting so weird. Maybe it's just me, maybe I'm over thinking.
Yes, it's probably that.

John stands and begins explaining the situation. "Well, it's my birthday, and as I'm Sherlock's flatmate we're celebrating."
"Ooh, a birthday! I love a good old birthday. And you are?" The Doctor asks looking straight at me.
For a second I completely lose the power of speech, and I sit there with my mouth hanging open like a fish, with four pairs of eyes on me. "Ermm … Molly." I say eventually, almost forgetting my own name. "Sherlock's girlfriend." No sooner do those words leave my mouth, my blood boils beneath my skin and my cheeks flush a dark shade of beetroot.
Why did I say that? Why?
"I mean …" My mouth gapes as I try to correct myself and both John's and Sherlock's eyes burn into my skin. "I mean … I'm …" I stammer. "I'm Sherlock's friend … who's … who's a girl." I give a nervous laugh and push a strand of hair behind my ear, letting my eyes drop to the floor as I hold my head in shame and embarrassment.
God knows what they think of me.

"Anyway," John says, changing the subject, thank god. I take a big gulp of the wine that's left in my glass, half hoping that it will cool my burning face.
"You're welcome to stay for cake, and I'd love to hear all about you and Sherlock. We didn't think he had any friends." John continues.
Amy turns to the Doctor, her glossy hair whipping around as she jerks her head. "Oh, go on Doctor." she pleads. "Go on, we've got a time machine, I'm sure we wont be late for your meeting with whoever it is, in Victorian London."
Time Machine and Victorian London? Am I hearing this right?
I take another gulp of wine.
The Doctor plonks himself on the sofa beside me, glancing at his watch. "Yeah, why not what's the worst that could happen?"