Chapter 10

AMY

Amy was ready to take a week off of work. She couldn't bear to think that she'd run into Sherlock Holmes again. To think that she thought he liked her. She was completely humiliated and could not face him at all without feeling embarrassed. The horrible thing was that she was still smitten with him. That moron.

Amy couldn't find that underlying attraction to him, though. Surely, she adored his odd appearance and outward personality, but there was something beneath it all that she couldn't piece together. Maybe it was the way he acted, but it was like there a brick wall in her mind keeping her from figuring it out.

Sally caught her sulking around in the apartment with a bottle of wine and asked what was wrong. To avoid sounding like a stalker, Amy took out a lot of parts to the story she told Sally.

"I met Sherlock," Amy said, looking up embarrassingly.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Amy," Sally gave her a side hug. "Now you know why I'm going on about him being a freak, then?"

"Yes, now I get it."

She was experiencing a wave of emotions that competed with each other every time she thought of Sherlock. She thought he ought to confront him about what happened, and actually had the courage to knock on his door, but only Mrs. Hudson, the landlady, answered.

"Is Sherlock in?" Amy asked, getting ready to yell obscenities at him.

"Sorry, dear. He's somewhere in … now where did he say?" Mrs. Hudson took a moment to think. "Baskerville, he said. I don't know how long he's gone for, he never really says."

Her level of anger dropped and she thanked Mrs. Hudson for the help. Since she was reassured that she wouldn't accidently bump in to Sherlock for the next little while, she decided to go back to work. There was no reason for her to not work – she'd done enough sightseeing the first week she was in London – and she didn't even have enough money for a mini vacation anyways.

Going back to work was easy. She was a crowd favorite with her sassy attitude and bright personality. A pair of dark eyes came upon her. It was the same man that came to the café a while ago.

"Hello, Amy," he said in his Irish accent. "I'd like a black coffee, two sugars."

"Right away," she said, hurrying back to the counter.

It wouldn't be until a few weeks until she realized that the man she was serving was Moriarty. But in the meantime, she'd loathe serving him. Everything about him creeped Amy out, but it was still those eyes. Those eyes sent chills down her spine, and it was always in the worst way.

She came back with the coffee, and he grabbed her wrist, "What sort of connection do you have with Sherlock Holmes?"

"Connection with Sherlock? None. We're basically strangers," she said in a tone of disgust while pulling her wrist away.

"So you're not friends, then?"

"Friends?" Amy scoffed. "I'd rather be caught dead than being friends with that idiot."

"That's good to know," Jim quietly said to himself while he took out his phone.

Amy wondered why he was so curious about him, but decided against asking. She didn't want to make any unnecessary conversation with him. Walking around the restaurant checking her customers, she saw Jim's phone and a list of people. Her name was on there and it was crossed out. Sally's too. The only names circled were John, Mrs. Hudson, and Lestrade. Curious.

The crash of plates diverted her attention from the phone, and she went to aid the new waitress. When Amy looked up, Jim was gone.

SHERLOCK

For Sherlock, this was the ultimate game that only luck let him play. It started off so innocent. He was just a mere detective chasing a serial killer cabbie when he caught sight of the girl with red hair. Now it was ruining his life. All he could think about was Amy Pond and how she may be the next person to ever outsmart him. She didn't even have any intentions to, but this was what was going to happen if he couldn't figure out the inner workings of her brain. Was he losing his touch?

Thankfully, he convinced John not to publish a blog entry about him falling in love with Amy. One: because it wasn't true – he was adamant about being in love with the game, but even he doubted himself sometimes. And two: he knew she read John's blog, and seeing as he doesn't really understand her at all, her actions could go anywhere. Worst case scenario would be her moving back to Leadworth and Sherlock never seeing her again.

Unfortunately for him, he was sent off on another case. Sure, it took his mind off of Amy, but it just meant that he was getting further away from figuring it out. On the way to Baskerville, Sherlock could tell that John wanted to talk.

"What is it, John?" Sherlock broke the silence.

"Amy will probably never talk to you again. You know that, right?"

"She will. In time. I know her, she'll get over it."

"That's just it, Sherlock. You think you know someone from what you deduce in just a few minutes, but this girl isn't just anyone. Let me put this in your terms," John cleared his throat. "She obviously likes you, and you obviously like her. But you obviously can't figure out that what you did may just ruin whatever chance you had with her. Sure, you did your experiment, but at what cost? Never seeing her again? You've thought about this, right?"

"Of course I thought about it. I'm always thinking about it. I never stop thinking about it."

"Huh."

"What?"

"Maybe that's your problem. Just stop thinking think about it and let it take its natural course."

"I don't know what that means, John. And you know I can't just stop thinking."

"I know. I don't even know why I suggested it. Forget about it."

They were still travelling on the road, but mostly in silence. Sherlock couldn't voluntarily stop thinking. His mind was meant to overanalyze situations in order to immerse himself in every single tiny detail. Sherlock wasn't going to take John's advice because John talked about letting go of the analytical side and falling to his so-called romantic side.

They reached Grimpen Village in no time and Sherlock and John began their investigating. John was getting better at noticing things which made Sherlock happier. They made their trip into Baskerville. It was quite an experience for both of them and they had to seriously think on their feet for most of it. It all seemed far too suspicious for Sherlock. Finally, they brought Henry Knight to the moor and everything went downhill from there.

Sherlock couldn't believe his own eyes. He was so shaken by the incident that he couldn't think straight. It helped keep Amy off of his mind, but that wasn't what he was worried about. He never doubted himself so much before that he just couldn't sleep. John attempted to calm him down and reassure him that it wasn't real, but that didn't help at all. Rationalization was not helping at all. Nothing was helping – not even alcohol.

Sherlock picked up his glass and scoffed, "Look at me, I'm afraid, John. Afraid."

His hand was trembling as he took a sip.

"Sherlock."

"Once been able to keep myself distant. Divorce myself of feelings. But look, you see? Body's betraying me. Interesting, yes? Emotions."

There's nothing wrong with me. Right?

"THERE IS NOTHING WRONG WITH ME. DO YOU UNDERSTAND?" Sherlock yelled at John.

After their brief spat, Sherlock sent John to talk to the psychiatrist whilst Sherlock went to their room. He kept telling himself that he was fine. It was just a gigantic hound that shouldn't have been there, but it was.

I'm fine. I'M FINE.

He ran out of energy pacing the room and laid down on the couch in the dark. He looked outside the windows of the balcony doors to see the stars were shining brightly, but that just made him bored. The picture of the hound was slowly being digested into his brain. John came back to the room and Sherlock turned on the lamp, making both of them squint their eyes. John looked exhausted and defeated.

"Didn't go well, then?" Sherlock had his eyes on John.

"No, guess who showed up?"

"Who?"

"Dr. Frankland," John sighed. "He blew my cover. Whatever. I'm going to bed."

When John got himself into bed, Sherlock turned off the lamp. He knew he wasn't going to get any sleep whatsoever with that thing out there in the woods. Sherlock needed to at least keep his mind active. He wished he brought his violin. The image of his flat came to mind and he enjoyed the familiarity. He was taking a tour of his own flat and came upon the smiley face. Amy. Sherlock swung his feet over the couch and sat up properly. He realized that he hadn't had the time to access his mind palace since the time he last saw her. He didn't make any new connections between the old and new information.

He started with everything he could remember about her emotions. In his mind, he was spinning a prize wheel, but every time, he'd get to the prize where all it was were question marks. This was Irene Adler all over again. There were no connections between anything of use to him. All her emotions were otherwise completely and perfectly genuine. She didn't hide those at all. He liked seeing her happy – the crinkle in her eyes when she smiled, the natural flush of her cheeks. Sherlock thought that to everyone else, she must have been just a typical ginger girl with no worries or cares. Oh, how those people were so utterly wrong. He took another spin on the imaginary prize wheel in his head again. Love. What? She wasn't in love with him – an undeniable attraction, sure. Why was love an option?

Sherlock realized he stopped finding out what she was feeling, but rather, how he was feeling towards her.

"Sherlock?"

The light was apparently on, and John was standing by the washroom door.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"Can't sleep. Accessing mind palace."

"The hound?"

"No. Amy."

John smirked and then cocked his head to the right in delight, "Really?"

"I'm afraid, John," Sherlock spoke after a minute of silence.

"Of what?"

"I think I am in love with her."

"So then why are you afraid?"

"How do I know that what I'm feeling is real? What if it's the game that is causing me to feel this…this attachment. This devotion to her?"

"Sherlock, it's not the game," John was in disbelief.

Sherlock closed his eyes and saw her smile. He opened his eyes again.

"What's going to happen if I figure her out in the end? I'll lose interest in her. She'll be boring to me, and I won't be in love anymore because, John, even if it is the game that is making me feel this way, there is no chance in hell that I'll ever meet someone like Amy Pond again."