The following morning, I was the first to wake. Sherlock looked like he belonged in a museum- due to the austere manner in which he slept. I slid out of bed and padded into the kitchen. I set about making coffee, knowing Sherlock preferred it over tea in the morning. My stomach grumbled drowsily and so I braved the refrigerator. I laughed faintly to myself at the discovery of toes where an ordinary person would have bacon or sausage. Next came an entire head.
Fortunately, I did discover some eggs, spinach, and feta cheese that were not expired or somehow spoiled…there was a time I found various specimens placed in the take out I had left. I went to the stove and began to make myself an omelet. "Good morning, Mrs. Hudson," I said warmly as the landlady quietly came into the flat, "Don't worry. I have Sherlock's coffee brewing already."
"Thank you, dear, you didn't sleep on that awful sofa did you? Poor thing, I have told the boys a hundred times to get a pull out for company…though no one stays the night except for you," she rambled.
"Er, no- I didn't sleep on sofa, I slept in John's bed," I lied.
"Out with Janette, then? Can't say I think it will last- she doesn't seem like the right one for our John," Mrs. Hudson confided as she began to tidy up.
"No, I don't think so either," I agreed. I poured myself a cup of coffee and sat at the cluttered table, my lips twitched at the microscope just to my left. The hot brew hit the back of the tongue, languidly spreading out, and the smooth citrus note of the beans brilliantly flooded my senses.
"Honestly," Mrs. Hudson tutted, "Toes- in the fridge!"
"I once came across dinosaurs on a spaceship with Queen Nefertiti whining in my ear," I remarked thought, "I think that's worse."
"Oh, Amy!" the elderly woman chuckled, "You should really write the things that come flying out of your mouth down! They would make lovely children stories!"
"Something smells good," John grunted drowsily, placing his coat on the rack.
"Care for some?" I mused, and rose to plate the omelet. At John's grunt of affirmation, I pulled two plates from the sparse cupboards.
"How was last night?" John asked lowly, casting a furtive glance back at the hallway leading to Sherlock's bedroom.
"Quiet," I answered, and set his half of the omelet in front of him.
"Ta," he said as he tucked in, and that was when we heard the water running in the loo. He shot me a tense look, which I returned, and we waited for Sherlock to emerge.
The consulting detective looked as he always did- indifferent and bored. I dropped two sugars into a cup and then pour the steaming coffee in; Sherlock idly took it from my outstretched hand, and then continued to make his way to his chair. He paid me no heed, despite my following eyes, and went to his music stand.
And then Sherlock Holmes began composing.
So it went on in a similar manner for days. Much of my time was spent at the location of my current shoot, but John kept me informed. Sherlock had taken to writing sad songs, and had yet to take on a case that involved leaving 221B. If Sherlock had been more like the Doctor, I would have said he was heartbroken…but Sherlock Holmes did not have a heart.
"See you around, Amy!" Avery said, and the crew left with their cameras.
My mobile hummed in my coat that was slung over my chair. I trotted over, aware of the precarious angle my feet were due the heels strapped around them. "Hullo?" I greeted.
"Amy, you have to watch Sherlock," John growled, "Otherwise I am going to need your help hiding the cock's corpse!"
"All right, all right! I am on my way," I laughed as I stepped out onto the street, "Let me be the one to kill him if you change your mind before I get there." I disconnected the line and hailed a cab. "Baker Street," I instructed, and leaned my head back. I had a feeling that today was one that would last forever. Yes, time would pass, but so much would remain still.
At least the door to the flat wasn't kicked in like the last time I had dropped by for a visit. I ducked in without further ceremony, and jogged clumsily up the stairs. "John! I'm here!" I called out faintly.
"Maybe Amy will put up with you- I need some air," John huffed, and stalked past me, "Ta, Amy, and good luck."
"All right," I sighed, and dropped into Sherlock's chair as I cocked my head at the consulting detective. He watched John disappear out of sight, and there seemed to be an impatient edge about him. "Come on," I drawled, "What's with you?"
"That would imply that I am out of my normal state of being, which I am not," he remarked, and stiffly ran the bow of his violin across its chords.
I flinched at the harsh sound and then rolled my eyes. "Sherlock, there's nothing ordinary about you- so stop the dramatics. Deduce me- you haven't informed me how my husband and I separated." I threw my legs over one of the chair's arms and regarded Sherlock. At the mention of deduction, he tensed further. He had yet to figure that one out- and it drove him mad. He looked like thunder…an intangible storm that still managed to frighten everyone. I took a healthy swig of his tea that lay untouched on the small table. "When I was a little girl, I had an imaginary friend," I began, "And when I grew up- he came back. He's called the Doctor. He comes from somewhere else. He's got a box called the TARDIS that's bigger on the inside and can travel anywhere in time and space. I ran away with him…I ran through time and across galaxies before the Angel sent me here."
"Amazing-"
"-He is," I agreed.
"Not your imaginary friend. The hallucinogen has already hit your system," Sherlock continued as if I had never spoken.
"Halluc-whut?" I slurred, blinking slowly in to clear my blurring vision.
"Anesthetic combined with a mild hallucinogen- my own cocktail- can't have you following me or trying to stop me," Sherlock explained. He bent over me and took hold of my wrists. "Elevated," he noted softly, "But that's to be expected."
"Sherlock," I grunted.
"Don't try to stave off the effects," Sherlock explained, "You will be quite safe here."
"Sherlock!" Mrs. Hudson screamed.
I clumsily lurched upright, very nearly toppling off the couch in the process, and clutched my pulsating head. My vision was consumed by swirling black shadows, and my heart clenched at the sight of the flat's door being kicked in.
"Shit! There's another one," a dark eyed American exclaimed.
"Looks like she knows her way around," another growled, "Get her, too!"
Two more entered the flat and lifted me off the sofa. "Let go of me!" I yelped, voice rough from my medically induced slumber, "Doctor!" My throat seized up at the instinctual cry, and I dipped my head to hide my misty eyes.
"Oh, Amy," Mrs. Hudson wailed tremulously, "Oh, I didn't know you were up here!"
We were shoved into two of the kitchen chairs that the American's had placed in the sitting room. I reached out and took hold of Mrs. Hudson's trembling hand. "It's all right," I whispered, "Sherlock and John will be here soon."
"Shut. Your. Mouth!" the leader barked.
I narrowed my eyes at the man, and Madame Kovarian's face flickered over his. I shoved the memory aside and did what Rory would have done…I observed. Ear pieces, all carrying at least one fire arm, and seemingly on a mission of utmost importance.
"Where is the cell phone of Irene Adler?" the leader demanded coldly.
Mrs. Hudson's hand squeezed mine tightly, and I turned my attention back to the man. "And what would the CIA want with a woman's mobile? Not gentleman-like at all." I quipped.
SMACK!
"Amy!" Mrs. Hudson cried.
"Shut up," the agent snarled, and looked at Mrs. Hudson, "Now, tell me- where is the cell phone?"
"I- I don't know," the landlady whimpered, "I'm just their landlord."
"Think harder!"
"Leave her out of this! She wouldn't know!" I spat.
"You do? Why?"
"I happen to live here," I explained, in what the Doctor called my Scottish scorn voice. One of the many things I had picked up from my travels with the Doctor was how to lie to protect the innocent.
"Do you now?" the CIA agent rounded back to me his face disgustingly close to my own. "Do you hear that, Mr. Archer, Sherlock Holmes seems to have a heart after all?"
"Nooo," I drawled, "I just happen to live here."