Oh, hello, it's me, again, I hope I'm not annoying you. Anyway, I feel like I need to warn people that there's slight suggestive themes in here. Okay, maybe a little more then slight, um... I don't know how to say it without giving it away, but it's not what you think. Actually it is, but it's not at the same time?

I don't think that makes sense.

ANYWAY I'd like to thank the lovely people who have reviewed and subscribed and done all that wonderful stuff. I want to hug you all every time I get an email notifying me of them. :D

I shall stop talking now. Enjoy!

*Disclaimer* None, I repeat, none, of these characters belong to me. It's just a little fun to get the stories out of my head. These characters belong to their rightful owners and whatnot. As I said, it's all fun. Enjoy!

Chapter 9 ~ Pure hearts stumble

Amelia Pond wore a gold "A" on a chain around her neck. She liked apples and puppies. Her favourite colour was blue and when she grew up she wanted to help people. Sherlock knew all this. He knew this like the back of his hand. Yet every time he saw her it was like she was hiding a new surprise for him to crack.

When Amelia Pond was 13 years old, she had her heart broken for the first time. She ran over to Sherlock's house and sat on his bed crying as Sherlock awkwardly had an arm around her shoulders and tried to comfort her. The truth was, though, that he knew this was coming. Teenage relations rarely lasted, he knew that.

At 19 years old, Sherlock was already well on his way to becoming the cold, clinical person that everyone would know. But every time he was around Amelia, something in him changed. He became soft. There was something in her murky green eyes that brightened whenever she figured something out. There was something about the way she chastised him when he did something she didn't like, or the way that she was always so blunt with everyone, not just him.

At 19 years old, Sherlock Holmes fell in love and he didn't realise it.

Mycroft was the first person who told Sherlock the truth.

"Love, Sherlock," he said whilst he flicked the remains of a cigarette away, "is a chemical defect found on the losing side."

Sherlock looked at his older brother, really looked at him.

"If it's where she is then I want to be there." Sherlock said in an even voice.

Mycroft turned his head slightly and took in his younger brother.

"Very well." He replied.

He walked away from Sherlock, chucking his cigarette on the ground and putting his umbrella up.

At 20 years old, Sherlock Holmes realised just how dangerous love could be.

Sherlock Holmes went away to university when he was 18. The only reason he ever came back to Leadworth could be summed into two words. Amelia Pond. She slowly began to mean everything to him. He couldn't stop thinking about her. Sherlock passed this off as the fact that she was a mystery that he couldn't solve. His body was just transport, that was all. He wasn't like all of the other guys.

Just transport.

Just Amelia.

Just experiments.

He told himself a lot of 'just's at that age. And he still continues to.

Sherlock Holmes was walking around the deserted streets around Amelia's home. Rory's words bouncing around in his head like hornets. He hated metaphors, usually, but that one fit. There was a low layer of fog covering the ground, making the orange sky seem even more sinister.

The kiss with Amelia had made Sherlock more… aware of certain aspect of his body. But at the time he considered it to be just an experiment. One that he would like to do again, if he had the chance.

He heard footsteps running up to him. Sherlock whipped around and pinned the other person to a fence. He came face to face with Amelia and his eyes couldn't help but dart to her lips, which parted as she tried to regain her breath. It was almost like she knew.

"What are you doing?" Sherlock snapped, but he still didn't let go of her. "I could've hurt you, Amelia."

Amelia pursed her lips and looked at him. "I'm not that breakable." She said in her thick Scottish accent.

"Where's Rory?" Sherlock asked.

"Inside the house."

They both turned their heads to look back in the direction of the house. Even though he couldn't see it, and he was pretty sure that whoever may be looking couldn't see them, Sherlock still felt as if he were being watched.

Sherlock turned his head back to Amelia, who was watching him hungrily. He knew what was going to happen next, any idiot would figure it out. But he didn't stop her. Instead his lips met hers halfway.

His hands moved from her wrists to the back of her neck and the other wrapped around her waist, pulling her closer against him as he pushed her harder against the fence. Sherlock didn't know what he was doing; he just did what his body, his transport, wanted. And he was enjoying every second of it.

Amelia's arms wrapped around his neck, her fingers entwined in his hair. She pushed her hips into his and Sherlock gasped, different parts of him reacting enthusiastically to her touch.

There was a ghostly laugh and with that Amelia was gone, causing Sherlock to hit his head on the fence. He swore and rubbed the tender spot. What had just happened? Sherlock turned around in the direction of the house. A pair of hands pushed him back against the fence. His eyes met with a pair of hauntingly familiar black ones.

"I have your princess, Sherlock." The thin Irish voice said. "She's trapped in a very high tower, waiting, always waiting."

He laughed and Sherlock lashed out but hit nothing but smoke. That's when he realised.

He covered his mouth and jogged back to the house. He shut the door harshly behind him, causing Amelia, who was in the living room, to jump.

"Sherlock?" She said getting up and walking over to him. "What's wrong with your head?"

Amelia touched the tender bump on his head and he hissed slightly, but his mind was too preoccupied with what happened not two minutes earlier.

"Where's Rory?" He said quickly, trying to distract himself from the heat coming off Amelia's body.

"He went for a walk, why?" She was confused, she should be, Sherlock was behaving erratically. "Sherlock, I think you should sit down…"

"I can't." He said pushing past her and then walking a couple steps up the stairs before going back down and grabbing Amelia's shoulders. "You are not to go outside, got it?"

"What about Rory?" She asked.

"He's dead."

"What?"

Sherlock could see Amelia shutting down. No matter how many times she had lost her husband, it still hurt her.

"How do you know?" She demanded.

"Amelia, he was never alive, he never came back, this is a trick." He said softly. He couldn't bear to see her in pain.

"For who?" She asked, her green eyes flashing with fear.

"For you."