The next time Sherlock sees Amy, he thinks he's dreaming.
He lies in bed after another cocaine overdose (dullboringuneventful) wondering why everybody seems hell-bent on keeping him alive when (everything else is transport) life was dull.
He's had his brother tell him that he'll be transferred into a rehabilitation centre within the week, another one, which will cure him of his addiction once and for all.
Sherlock knows that he'll be able to get out of the centre with a few chosen words and a lock pick, like he always does, but he doesn't dare inform Mycroft about that.
He probably already knows, though. The bastard.
He, instead, chooses to comment on how he should be honoured to have His Royal Highness, the British Government at his bedside, and asks if the recent earthquake was because Mycroft jumped.
Mycroft scoffs at him, tells him not to be a child, and leaves.
He's had the detective who caught him visit, but they never spoke.
Sherlock looks at the ceiling and desperately wishes for a cigarette.
His door opens, and a girl, with fiery red hair and green eyes, enters his room, followed by her two companions.
"Are you sure it's this way? It doesn't seem—"
The girl stops in her tracks when she sees him lying there. Amy doesn't seem like she's aged a bit.
(Must be dreaming. Or delusional. )
"Sherlock?" She asks quietly, as one of her companions step forward. Rory Williams. Who also doesn't seem to have aged a bit.
(Or going insane.)
"Sherlock? Sherlock, mate, what happened to you?" He asks as he steps forward to read the chart hanging off Sherlock's bed. Sherlock forgot he was a nurse.
He looks at them.
"Hello." The other companion steps forward. "You seem to know each other. Coincidence? Nah, nothing is. I'm the Doctor."
Sherlock doesn't say anything.
(Note: Ask Mycroft if I can change my name into 'The Detective'. Of course I can't. Ask any way to annoy him.)
"Cocaine overdose," he hears Rory read out to the others. He refuses to budge.
Amy looks at him. "Why would you do this to yourself, Sherlock?"
"Bored," Sherlock answers stoically.
Amy takes his hand. Sherlock marvels at how real she feels, how real she looks like.
(Note: Dreams feel real when you're in them.)
"Come with us," Amy offers. "You'll never be bored again."
"I hate to break it to you, Amy, but we're not allowed to move him in this condition." Rory says. "He's still resting."
"We'll come back, then." The Doctor says, cheerily. "We'll come back when you're all better."
Amy smiles sadly at him. "Hear that, Sherlock? We'll come back for you when you're better."
Sherlock shakes his head, pulls his hand away. Amy's expression is heartbreaking.
Sherlock would rather an angel Mycroft drag him to heaven when he died.
Never, ever an angel Amy.
Amy stands up and walks toward the door, stops, looks back at him, and in a blink, she's gone.
Later, when Sherlock feels much better, he thinks about the lingering scent of her perfume.
It's been five years.
Sherlock's on a case when the next hallucination happens.
He's retracing the victim's footsteps, mumbling to himself, when he bumps into someone.
"Oof," the girl says, and Sherlock only vaguely registers the red hair and that perfume.
"Sorry…" the girl says. Sherlock's too busy looking around for clues to actually pay attention to the girl in front of him.
(The victim was here, somewhere, right before his death. He missed something so obvious, something staring at him in the face.)
"OI! AMY!" Sherlock hears distantly, and it takes time to click together in his mind, before his eyes widen in surprise and he looks down at the girl he bumped.
Amy is staring at him, wide-eyed and open mouthed, looking not a day over twenty-one.
"`m over here," she calls back, never taking her eyes off him.
(Insanity. Marvelous.)
"Sherlock?" She asks, quietly, extending her hand up to touch his face. Sherlock swats her hand off and says nothing.
"How…old are you now?" She asks, tears in her eyes.
He refuses to answer.
Of course, standing beside a newspaper stand, it's easy enough to look at the date. That's what she does.
(Observant, Amy.)
"Amy!" He hears the distinct voice of Rory in the distance.
He jogs up to them, panting, but his eyes widening in shock as he sees Sherlock.
"Sherlock?" He asks, and Sherlock purses his lips in irritation.
(Obvious, Rory.)
"YOU TWO! Enough with the running, already. Don't you get tired of all that running from the monsters?" The Doctor person comes up to them, in sunglasses. "Let's walk, enjoy the scenery."
He tilts down his sunglasses and looks at Sherlock.
(Mysterious companion. How I love a mystery.)
"Hello there, Sherlock, if I'm not mistaken. Last time I saw you, you were bedridden at a hospital."
"H..He's thirty now, Rory." Amy says, quietly, and Sherlock rolls his eyes.
(Sentiment. How boring.)
"If you'll excuse me, I've got more important matters to deal with than this." Sherlock says coldly.
A tear falls from Amy's eye, and how he wants to wipe it from her face.
(Stop it, Sherlock. No more emotions. Emotions are boring, irrelevant and destructive. You don't have a heart.)
Rory looks like he's been slapped. Only the Doctor fellow looks completely at ease.
"Sherlock..?" Amy asks, extending her hand up. Sherlock bats it away once more.
"This is all very interesting," he says sarcastically, "but there are less trivial matters I have to deal with. Goodbye."
With that, he pushes away from them and walks. To where, he doesn't know.
He just needs to get away from all that emotion.
(Don't look back. Don't you dare look back. Caring is not an advantage. You've given up, Sherlock. Don't look back.
..Damn it.)