Chapter 3
Amy returned later that afternoon to see that Sherlock, John, and the DI were no longer in her flat.
"Oh, hello, Amy!" Mrs. Hudson sounded cheery, even after the explosion. "By the way, John has invited you to tea at 8."
"Great," Amy said. "Have you seen any of them? I heard that they were in my flat. Do you know why?"
"I think they have a new case. Sherlock is going to be so happy."
Policemen? She couldn't picture John and Sherlock as such, especially with the contents in their apartment. Well, at least she'd always be safe around them.
Amy entered her flat and looked around. The shoes that John talked about were gone, but she noticed that her flat was cleaned – there weren't any shards of glass anywhere. She looked to see if anything was taken; not that she had much to take, but stopped when she realized how empty everything looked. She felt slightly embarrassed knowing that people have been in her flat and there was no furniture. As soon as she could, she went out and bought a load of furniture and decorations and got to work.
After a couple of hours, she sat down on her new couch and had a drink. She was exhausted and hungry, but it was nearly time for tea. Looking around her room, she smiled at her accomplishment. It was smaller than she was use to, but it was better than it being bigger on the inside.
Upstairs, Sherlock and John were so busy trying to figure out their Carl Powers case that they completely forgotten about tea – they only had a few hours left before the sniper would detonate the bomb. It was only when John found Amy knocking at their door did he remember.
"Oh! Tea!" John looked angry at himself.
"I'm guessing you didn't remember?" Amy asked.
"John!" Sherlock called from the kitchen.
"What?!" John yelled back. "Come in Amy, make yourself at home. I'll, uh, get the tea started."
"Are you sure? You seem quite busy," Amy was hesitant. She didn't want to be rude and interrupt … whatever they were doing.
"It's fine," John said, opening the door wider. "It's just Sherlock that's busy."
Amy stepped in cautiously, seeing as they both seemed a little jolted by something. John hustled off to the kitchen as Amy took a seat in the lounger that was facing the kitchen.
"What?" John said. "Our guest is here."
"Fetch me my phone. It's in my coat pocket," Sherlock said, not taking his eyes off his microscope.
John dug into Sherlock's suit pocket and gave a face to Amy. She giggled. The hot water began to boil. Still, Sherlock didn't take a glance at her yet. John came over with two cups of tea to where she sat and took his usual place.
"Are you sure I'm not interrupting?" Amy asked after she sipped her tea.
"Yeah, I'm no use to Sherlock anyways," John assured her.
There was a moment of awkward silence between the two, "so what do you do for a living?"
"I'm a doctor. I work at a clinic." John said.
That surprised Amy completely, but the more she thought about it, the more it made sense. He was definitely a nice, caring fellow, who conveyed warmth of compassion to people. Something at the back of her mind tugged at the idea of familiarity, but she couldn't put the pieces together quite yet.
"How 'bout yourself," John replied.
"I'm sort of unemployed," she said.
"Sort of?"
"I'm trying to get some modeling jobs, but the market is tough."
"That doesn't make sense. Your proportions are slim, you have perfect face symmetry, and your height is consistent with other models," Sherlock piped up, not even looking away from his microscope. "There wouldn't be any reason why you're not getting jobs."
"Uh, thanks," she wasn't sure how to take that evaluation of her body type. She wondered how he even managed to get all that when he hadn't even looked at her the moment she walked in.
"Oh, um, Amy, that's Sherlock," John pointed. "Sherlock, this is Amy."
"I know," Amy and Sherlock said in perfect unison.
They also looked at each other in unison as well, giving John a confused expression on his face. Amy still couldn't tell what colour Sherlock's eyes were, but she did notice his figure with the slim fitting shirt. He was a handsome man, and she couldn't deny it.
"How do you …," John was interrupted before he could finish asking.
"I helped him out of the flat during the explosion," Amy started. "and …"
"She brought me to the ambulance to get me bandaged up," Sherlock finished her sentence.
There was a period of awkwardness between the two. John was slightly enjoying himself watching Sherlock interact with a woman in tandem. They weren't fighting at all, and it was kind of fun for John to watch. A woman he hasn't made angry! A few minutes later, Sherlock returned to his microscope and John returned to chatting with Amy. All was well until Sherlock had a sudden outburst.
"Poison! Clostridium botulinum! It's one of the deadliest poisons on the planet!" Sherlock slammed his table hard.
John rushed into the kitchen. Amy followed.
"Carl Powers!" Sherlock saw John's confused face.
"Wait, you're saying he was murdered?" John asked.
"Remember the shoe laces? The boy suffered from eczema. It would be the easiest thing in the world to introduce the poison into his medication. Two hours later, he comes up to London, the poison takes effect, paralyzes the muscles, and he drowns," Sherlock explained quickly. Amy managed to catch every word.
"What? H-how come the autopsy didn't pick that up?"
"It's virtually undetectable. Nobody would have been looking for it."
Sherlock quickly typed into his site that he found out how Carl died.
"There's still tiny traces of it left inside the trainers where he put cream on his feet," he pressed enter. "That's why they had to go."
"So how do we let the bomber know?"
"Get his attention. Stop the clock."
The phone rang. John and Sherlock tensed up. The lady on the phone, a hostage, was informing them that it was over.
"I'm sorry, but what do you do?" Amy asked when everything was done.
"Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective," he walked up to her and shook her hand.
With the force that he shook her hand, Amy could tell he was excited and jittery.
"And what does a consulting detective do?" Amy asked with a smirk.
"When the police are out of their range, which is nearly always, they come to me and I figure out their cases for them. I take cases that are interesting and deal with them in the matter that I can," he proudly stated.
"By observing and noticing," John added in, but regretted it soon.
"Take for example, you. Even though I didn't know your name before John proposed the idea of having tea with you, your accent is distinctive, and I knew it was you when you said a few words when you stepped in here a few moments ago. I remembered your appearance from last night and connected your name to your face. Also, you're from Leadworth going by the fact that your accent is slightly warped. You obviously don't mind anything dangerous or exciting because it's probably what you're use to. Why else would you come into an apartment that faced the explosion head on just to help a man you don't know? From the looks of it, you're unsure about your modeling career, and you haven't been in the workforce for a long time, which is why your confidence is a bit shaken and that's why you didn't get the job this morning. Why you moved here, I'm thinking after you've been divorced..."
"Divorced?! Excuse me?!"
"As I was saying, your ring finger. You've been travelling recently, which can explain the tan. This tan, even thought it is faint, you can see that was where your wedding ring was, there is a lighter mark. Maybe because you've been married a while now. Seeing as it's not very faded, it means you've been divorced recently. The fact that you're living by yourself in a flat big enough for one person justifies that."
John placed his hand on his face in frustration. Of course, Sherlock wouldn't change for anyone. He would always piss off someone with the words that came out of his mouth. John sighed and looked at Amy to see if she would storm off.
"Whoa there, let me get this into your head of yours. I am not divorced. You got everything else right except for that," Amy got close to him. Was she trying to size him up?
John looked surprised that a perfect stranger started defending herself. Usually they'd just swear at Sherlock and walk away, but Amy was standing her ground.
"Then how do you explain the missing ring? Where is your husband? Why are you here?" Sherlock was adamant that he got at least that right – it was the most obvious one.
"It's complicated. You would never in a million years understand," Amy looked down for a moment, and then backed off. "Sorry, I have to go. Thanks for having me over for tea, John."
Amy left the flat as quickly as she could before John or Sherlock could start asking why. Usually, under regular circumstances, she'd back herself up, but this time she didn't want to explain her situation with time travelling, not that they would even believe her.
"Good going, Sherlock," John said to Sherlock.
"What did she mean by 'it's complicated' and that I'd never understand?" Sherlock asked John, who was now plopped on the sofa.
John had his hands covering his face, "it means she didn't want to talk about it."
"But I read her, as if she were an open book, John," Sherlock sat down on his seat, Amy's perfume was still lingering there. "Why did she find the thought of her being divorced so horrid?"
John sat up, "maybe because she isn't divorced?"
"But the signs are all there!" Sherlock raised his voice.
From 221c, she could hear Sherlock say that last sentence. She opened her jewelry box and pulled out her wedding ring.
"Idiot," She started to talk as if the Doctor were there. "If it wasn't for you, Doctor, I might not have gotten married to my best friend. But ever since you died, all I see in this diamond are the adventures we had. And it hurts. You kept the ring when he died and you helped me remember him. I love Rory, I do, but I don't need a ring to remind me of my love for him.
"I brought you back on my wedding day, why won't you come back now?" she sighed, tears forming in her eyes, and she put her wedding ring back.
She closed her eyes and pictured the Doctor. She knew her wish would never come true. But the picture of the Doctor in her mind was soon replaced by the consulting detective who was pacing around upstairs yelling at John about Amy.