Author's note: This is the place where I would insert something witty about how much I love you and the like about how glad you haven't given up on this story. Hope you enjoy this chapter! Leave reviews and the like!
Love, Ana x


Later. Later-later-later-later. Later. Late. Er. The word went around in his head, analysing all the different emphases. He'd already tried to analyse the pollution rise in the village, but after working out that it was a negative growth, he gave up on trying to distract himself.

How much later could later be? The quietest place in Leadworth, one of many, the familiar and now well-used bench next to the church saw the tall man adorn it once more, but now as a man who's brain was filled with thoughts; his usual observations, sure, with more and more of them slowly being pushed out by the growing impatience with Amelia. More accurately, with his feelings towards her, and how, after all these years, she was still impossible, and impossible to read.

The wind tugged at his curls as he swiveled on the bench and leaning back, steepling his fingers and crossing his legs, not dissimilar to how he had all those years ago, only he overflowed a lot more than he used to. Eyes closed, of course he didn't see the tall skinny figure approach.

"Thought I'd find you here." Even after 15 years of living in Leadworth her Scottish accent sang loud and clear.

"What of it?" A smirk grew on the man's face as he sat up to make room for her.

"You didn't reply to my texts. Were you, oh, I don't know, counting the bits of gravel to work out the average number of people who walk this part of the road each year?" She shuffled closer to him, her light sweater meeting his thick coat. "Why are you wearing something so thick in summer, anyways?"

He didn't answer, turning to face her, trying to read her features. "Why am I here, Amelia?"

"Because I invited you." She brushed it off, simple, easy, though she knew a more loaded question was on its way.

"Why did you invite me?"

"Because I want you here." She did want him there, and on two levels, and it confused her so much. "About what I was saying earlier, it doesn't matter."

"Yes. It does."

All Amy did was shake her head in reply. It mattered, it mattered a lot. And she had to know. But she didn't want to possibly break everything she had. Shrugging, she managed to look into his grey-blue eyes, started to say something and then changed her mind. "Urgh, fine. But I'm not talking here."

"Here is perfectly fine."

"No, Sherlock, it's not." And she stood, brushed herself down and started at a swift pace, knowing he would catch up in moments. And with a swish of his coat, he was, and the pair were walking towards her house in silence. The normally chatty Amy knew that she wouldn't be able to hide anything from him, both the inability and not being willing to. She was planning what she was going to tell him. Pointless, of course, because she'd just say whatever her heart wanted her to once she started, but a basic layout couldn't hurt, could it?

The short walk ended with Sherlock letting himself into Amy's house, ignoring Sharon's frown and striding up the stairs to her bedroom, two steps at a time. Amy ignored her aunt's now quizzical look and trotted up after him, a small, bittersweet sigh escaping her lips as she shut the door behind herself and flopped onto the bed.

"What am I doing here, Amelia Jessica Pond?" He stood tall, proud, coat collar turned up against the non-existent wind.

"Sherlock, please, sit down." It wasn't alien to her that he would be rigid and tense, but she yearned for the time when he wouldn't be. "Relax. Sit down." As he hesitated, she crossed her legs and freed up the space next to her. "Sit. Now."

"Fine," he rolled his eyes and sat next to her.

"Coat off."

"No."

"Sherlock Ho-"

"Urgh, fine." He shrugged the coat off and threw it into the room as if it were 221B. "Now. Tell me why I'm here."

"I." Don't know how to say this. Love you. Think you love me. Want you, not Rory. No simple sentence structure would do it. "I'm confused. And thought I might as well tell you what you always knew..." She pulled her knees up around her, waiting for some reaction that, of course, didn't come. "It was always you..." It wasn't loud enough to be heard. It was barely loud enough for Amy to hear herself. "Sherlock." She voice grew louder, gaining a little confidence. "It was always you."

Sure he'd heard now, she waited, gaze fixed on his jawline, trying not to focus on his eyes. They'd tell her everything, and that she'd mucked up.

He sat very still. This couldn't be. No. "You're engaged Amelia. And getting married tomorrow."

"You didn't answer my question."

"You didn't ask one."

"Sherlock." Her tone was warning. "If." She paused, hating that it was something she was considering. "If I... lef-"

"If you left Rory, would I have you?"

"You make me sound like a piece of meat."

"You make you sound like a piece of meat, those were going to be your exact words, Amelia."

She pouted, realising he was right. As always.

"Well..?"

"Well, what?"

"Would you?"

There was a quiet knock at the door. Sharon. Sighing, Amy stood and opened the door. "Yes, Sharon?"

"I was just checking in on you before I went to bed. Big day tomorrow."

"Also known as you were trying to check up on me," Sherlock piped up, standing and pulling his coat to him.

"Goodnight, Amelia. Sharon." And with a curt nod, Sherlock left, long legs striding and taking him away from the big country house, turning briefly, seeing Amy watch him from the window. He nodded once before turning away, towards the quaint bed and breakfast that he had booked, or moreover, John had booked for him, for the night.


"Goodnight, Sharon." Amy was lying, staring at the ceiling, on her bed and when her aunt had finally, an hour later, bid her goodnight for the last time, she rolled over and pulled her phone to her.
"We need to talk, Sherlock. Garden, 10 minutes. Please. Amy x"

She felt like a schoolgirl all over again: excitement, though for the wrong man; anger at Sharon, that wasn't new, especially when it came to Sherlock. She sighed. Did the nod mean..? Of course it did. But what if she was reading too much into what she wanted? Something felt like it didn't make sense.

Groaning at her confusion, at her love, at her life, she pulled herself to her feet and pulled her dressing gown over her long nightie, slipping her feet into her slippers as she heard a noise. That noise. From all those years ago.

Every thought was erased from her head and suddenly she was 7 years old again, she was reliving the events from two years previous, and, rushing to the window, then back to her door and down the stairs to the front door, she saw that blue box.

"Sorry about running off earlier! Brand new TARDIS, bit exciting. Just had a quick hop to the moon and back to run her in. She's ready for the big stuff now."

"It's you. You came back."

Sherlock stood, hidden by the rose arch she had just ran through, and opened his mouth to talk, but was stopped before the words had formed.

"Course I came back, I always come back. Something wrong with that?"

How had he missed that? Keeping stock still, his eyes widened as he recognised the blue box from Amy's descriptions all those years ago.

"And you kept the clothes."

And there was a joke about clothes? Stupid to feel a pang of jealousy, but he felt it nonetheless. When the last time he'd joked and laughed with Amelia Pond, he couldn't remember.

"Well, I just saved the world, the whole planet for about the millionth time, no charge. Yeah, shoot me, I kept the clothes."

"Including the bow tie."

"Yeah, it's cool. Bow ties are cool."

"Are you from another planet?"

"Yeah."

"'Kay.."

"So what do you think?"

"Of what?"

"Other planets, do you want to check some out?"

"What does that mean?"

"It means, well, it means. Come with me."

"Where."

"Wherever you like."

"All the stuff that happened, the space ships, Prisoner zero."

"Oh don't worry, that's just the beginning. There's loads more."

"Yeah, but those things, those amazing things, all that stuff. That was two years ago."

Sherlock grinned as he saw Amy's feisty side come out. Good ol' Amelia, he though. Don't stand for his lines.

"Ohohhooo. Oooops."

"Yah!"

"So that's? Fourteen-"

"Fourteen years!"

"Fourteen years since fish custard. Amy Pond, the girl who waited, you've waited long enough."

"When I was little, you said there was a swimming pool. And a library, and that the swimming pool was in the library."

"Yeah. Not sure where it's got to, I'm sure it'll turn up. So! Coming?"

"No.."

Good...

"You wanted to come fourteen years ago."

"I grew up."

Yes, you did, my Amelia Pond. I'm sorry.

"Don't worry. I'll soon fix that." He clicks his fingers and she looks at him, nervous laughter escaping her lips as she saw him look to her and gauge her reaction. Grinning, she stepped into the TARDIS.

Sherlock Holmes watched the orange light illuminate her round face, went to stop her, but couldn't bring himself to. Her dream. Her childhood. He couldn't do that to her. And yet he felt his stomach writhe at the thought of letting her run away with yet another man on the night before her wedding.

And yet there he stood, in her garden, and watched the box dematerialise, with only two words on his lips. "Sorry, Amelia.."