Chapter 8
Christmas was officially over but Amy had no chance of telling Sherlock that Irene was alive. She had to pack for her short trip back to Leadworth. With all those preparations set, she went back up to 221B to give John and Sherlock a lovely farewell before she caught her cab. John was just getting ready to head out, and Sherlock was playing his violin.
"So you'll be gone for the week?" John asked.
"Yep. Going to spend the new year with my parents, husband and ...," Amy stopped herself there before she could say the word 'daughter.' That wouldn't have been fun to explain.
Amy realized then that she still hadn't revealed any details of her travels with the Doctor, and it seemed as if none of them knew. She wasn't even sure if Sherlock could figure that out. Nevertheless, his mind was still clouded. London helped to blur some of the memories of the Doctor and the adventures, but it was only temporary, of course, as she could never escape the memories of him, but everything that happened after moving to London made Amy happy of where she was in life.
Thinking of Sherlock, though, was a different story. He could not move on thinking that Irene was dead, and Amy was right – it was something that was clouding his thoughts from seeing the tiniest details on the dead body. The DNA results came in, but she knew they were faked. DNA cannot replace the shapes of fingernails. Ever since he got her phone – and that text – he settled with the idea that she was dead and did not welcome any new ideas. He would play out Amy's voice with his violin at the mention of Irene's name.
"Well I hope you have a lovely trip, and say hello to Rory for me," John said. "I am just going to go out for a bit, so I suppose I can walk you downstairs."
"Yeah, that'd be nice!" Amy replied excitedly. "Sherlock."
He didn't move from his spot.
"See you soon," she said to his back.
John walked over to Mrs. Hudson and silently talked to her. Amy stood staring at his back, just a bit off his peripheral. He noticed her, of course.
"Listen. Has he ever had any kind of girlfriend, boyfriend, a relationship? Ever?" John said as silently as possible, but Amy and Sherlock could hear.
"I don't know," Mrs. Hudson kept her voice quiet.
"How can we not know?"
Amy looked at the two and then back at Sherlock. The man who thinks he doesn't show emotion, who thinks he can keep his composure after all that has happened to him from God knows how long, is being read like an open book by Amy. He can't hide from her, and even he knows it.
"He's Sherlock. How will we ever know what goes on in that funny old head?"
Amy smiled. Sherlock turned his head just a bit to see it.
"Alright, come on Amy," John called for her.
"Take care of yourself, Sherlock," Amy placed her hand on his shoulder and left.
John and Amy went down the stairs and out the flat. The smell of something familiar hit Amy, but she ignored it as she saw the cab already waiting for her. As she made it to the other side of the street, she heard John's name being called out. Looking from inside her taxi, she noticed the woman in black talking to John. A little out of the ordinary. But then she noticed the black car pulling up. Amy looked back at the woman standing by John. It was perfume that she smelled walking out the flat. Amy looked back and tried to remember the smell. Her memory flashed back to just a few weeks before at a photo shoot. The makeup artist sprayed her with it, but it was the oddly shaped bottle encrusted in gold that made her remember. At that moment, Amy remembered that there was a tray of perfume sitting on Irene Adler's vanity and there was one particular bottle of perfume sitting right in front. That woman was working for Ms. Adler.
Quickly, Amy scrambled to look for her phone. It was in one of her bags, but she didn't know which one! When she finally found it, she dialed John's number as quickly as she could.
"Pick up, pick up, pick up!" she muttered under her breath.
Of course, John's phone was on silent.
"JOHN!" She yelled, catching the cabbie's attention and making him stop the car.
"Oh, sorry! Keep going," Amy said.
"Yes, ma'am," the cab driver replied.
Frustrated with her phone, she tried dialing Sherlock, but he was no use either. He was probably sulking in the corner of his flat. Amy looked out the window and noticed she was halfway to the station. No point in going back now. They were on their own. What exactly would happen, she wouldn't know. All she knew was that Irene was going to reveal herself.
Just moments before Amy, Sherlock saw the car, the woman, and John, and noticed something was off. This was not Mycroft. Obviously his curious nature got the better of him and he followed John. Taking a cab, he managed to follow them without suspicion. Not even as he stopped at Battersea Power Station did his presence alert anyone. He could see John in certain areas of the power station and the woman that lead him there. Sherlock took a different route but ended up in the same area nonetheless. He could hear John speak.
"I'd say he was heartbroken, but, er, well, he's Sherlock. He does all that anyway ...," John abruptly stopped when he saw Irene emerged.
This came as a shock to John. Even though he didn't personally see the body, and even though he never really asked a lot of questions, Sherlock's drastic change in personality made him believe she was dead. He realized now that he didn't even question it at all. Sherlock couldn't see what was happening, of course, but he knew something was up.
"Hello Doctor Watson," her voice lacked the sultry smooth tone. She meant business.
"Tell him you're alive."
"He'd come after me."
At the first sound of her voice, a sort of shock hit him. He tried to force himself to realize what was going on and to not let his mind wander. Sherlock began to walk away. Even though he knew she was alive now, it didn't change the fact that she didn't want him to know.
"Look, I made a mistake," that caught Sherlock's attention, and he quietly walked back to his spot. "I sent something to Sherlock for safe keeping and now I need it back, so I need your help."
The phone. Sherlock thought about where he last put it. A sort of daze was creeping towards him. It was blocking his thought process. And now his hearing was going out. It was only when he heard John speak in such a surprised tone that got Sherlock listening.
"You ... flirted with Sherlock Holmes?"
"At him. He never replies."
This conversation was going nowhere. His mind flashed back to the body on the slab in the hospital. He realized now that he wasn't sure if it was her after all. All those times Amy tried to get his attention, and he didn't even bother to give her a chance. Sherlock assumed that when Amy said Irene wasn't dead, she meant that she wasn't dead in his mind or heart or something clichéd.
"There. 'I'm not dead. Let's have dinner,'" Irene said to John.
The sound of Sherlock's text alert caught his attention. He put his phone away and left. That was all he needed to see. Now the shock started to hit him so much so that his focus and concentration was muddled. He couldn't remember how he got back to his flat, but he did. Did John or Irene chase after him? He didn't know. When he got to his door, however, something odd snapped him back into reality. Opened door, cleaning supplies, scuffs – something was wrong. Anger.
In just a few seconds, he assessed the situation and immediately took out the American. Admittedly, a lot of his anger and confusion was directed towards him, and not towards the actual situation – IRENE WAS ALIVE. As emotionless as he was, he couldn't believe that he felt something knowing she wasn't dead. He couldn't tell if he did have feelings for her or if it was just that he met his match. It took a little while, and a little note on the door, to get John's attention. By the time Lestrade got to 221b, it was night time.
In Leadworth, Amy finally arrived. She had no clue what was going on in London and she was incredibly worried. Sherlock, John, and Mrs. Hudson were like her third family (her first being her parents and Rory, the second being the Doctor and River). No one was picking up their phones and that was frustrating her.
At the bus stop, she caught sight of Rory. She ran into his arms and gave him a kiss.
"Oh God, I've missed you," Rory said as they continued to hug.
She let go and looked at him and got into Rory's car. She looked around as they drove to her house. She saw the duck pond with no ducks. She saw the telephone booth the Doctor destroyed that one time when Prisoner Zero appeared. All those memories flooded back into her brain, but before she could feel stressed, her phone beeped.
We're fine. – SH
She rolled her eyes and dialed his number. Finally, he picked up.
"You know I don't like to talk. Texting is much more convenient," Sherlock said over the phone.
"Not if you don't answer them. What the hell was going on? Why weren't you answering my texts or calls?" she asked.
"Is that Amy?" Amy could hear John. "Put her on speaker."
She could hear Sherlock fiddling with the phone and placing it on the table.
"Amy! Hello! How's Leadworth?" John asked excitedly before taking a sip of his drink.
"Great! Now put down your scotch and tell me what happened," Amy smirked at her confused husband.
"How did you know …?" John put his scotch down.
"John, we've been neighbours for how long? Now. You got in that car thinking it was probably Mycroft when it was really Irene. What happened after that?" Amy started.
"Are you psychic or something?" John was still confused.
"For God's sake, John. Yes, Amy. You were right …," Sherlock began but Amy interrupted.
"Wait, hold on there, Sherlock. Say those words again?" Amy said.
Sherlock rolled his eyes, "You were right. She's alive."
"Told you so. Didn't I tell him?" Amy looked at Rory, who just shrugged and shook his head. "Anyways?"
"Anyways. I came back to the flat, found Mrs. Hudson was attacked, and took care of the attacker, who was the American."
Amy knew he skipped Irene for a reason, but decided not to push the thought any further. Over the phone, she could hear the bells in London toiling. She looked at the clock in Rory's car. It was midnight.
"Happy New Year boys," Amy said with a smile and she looked at Rory.
"Happy New Year, Amy," Sherlock said back, and after a sip of scotch, John said it too.
Amy hung up the phone as they arrived at her childhood home. She walked hand in hand with Rory, taking a moment to look back at where the Doctor first crash landed into her yard. Sherlock took his violin and started playing while John took to his laptop and scotch. All of them truly hoped for a happy new year.
