Chapter 26

As soon as the funeral was over, River departed quickly to another adventure. Rory moved in with Amy in her small flat for the time being. It was nice having her husband take care of her, especially after weeks of caring for Mrs. Hudson and John. Luckily for her, Rory was there when Amy woke up to one of the many nightmares she had after the funeral – the fall kept replaying over and over in her dream, and the sound of Sherlock's body hitting the ground always woke her up. Amy made the decision to move out of Baker Street in two weeks time. All she had to do was to quit her job at the modeling agency, make sure that Sherlock's flat would remain untouched as to Mycroft's rule, and to run some errands.

First on her list was to run some small errands – that was the easiest as Rory was there to do most of it. A lot of those tasks included returning some items that she borrowed from various acquaintances or to say good bye to some people she knew. Second, she went to her modeling agency. They weren't particularly happy that Amy was quitting, especially since she was due for a contract renewal, but she always said that she would happily work from Leadworth.

She left Sherlock's flat the last thing on her list to the day she would officially leave London. It was Amy's first visit to Sherlock's flat in over a week. Like always, Sherlock's missing presence felt peculiar, and she couldn't help but feel so out of place in his flat. The stillness scared her, but she moved on and did some dusting, being absolutely careful not to move anything that shouldn't be moved.

Dusting made her content, though only for the reasons of coming upon items that she had happy memories attached to. She dusted the skull thoroughly and remembered the day that Sherlock had gone out and John and Amy were bored sitting in the flat waiting for him. She couldn't remember whose idea it was to play toss, but John and Amy eventually found themselves passing a skull around in the living room. Sherlock joined in, seeing it to be a helpful part of his thinking process. Amy dusted some other odds and ends before finding herself in front of Sherlock's room. Quietly, she entered. With her duster in hand, she got to it. As she was dusting, she felt as if someone was watching her, which made her feel incredibly uncomfortable, but gave her reason to finish quickly.

Amy took a look at the flat one last time. She could imagine, as clear as day, Sherlock swiftly pacing around the living room, him stopping to sit at the kitchen table to look through his microscope, or standing and composing something melodic in the corner with his violin. Amy could picture John, sitting serenely eating biscuits and drinking tea while reading the newspaper, at his desk typing up another entry in his blog, or even just arguing with Sherlock. Walking away from it all, she found tears welling up in her eyes again, and she scoffed. Sherlock would laugh at how sentimental she was being.

Amy heard the sound of footsteps coming her way. It was Rory, "Ready? The cab's here."

Amy nodded and went with her husband. Saying one last farewell to Mrs. Hudson, she couldn't help but feel bad for her. John and Amy decided it be best that they didn't say good bye to each other. Stepping out of the flat, and into the cab, Amy couldn't pry her eyes off of the first door she stepped through when she arrived in London. She couldn't help but look into Sherlock's flat and pretend to see his face. She felt Rory's hand on her arm telling her it was time to go. The trip back was quiet. Amy slept nearly the whole way there. She woke up to the complete stop of the car. Rory was a gentleman and gave Amy her space to both think and grieve. She spent most of her day walking around the town and surfing the internet.

It was nighttime when she found herself sitting in her backyard with a bottle of white wine and two glasses, and a blanket draped over her shoulders. She was staring off into the night sky when she found River walking behind her.

"Heard there was a freak meteor shower two miles away, so I got us a bottle," Amy spoke first, not breaking her sights off of the sky.

"Thank you, dear," River sat down and poured some wine.

"So where are we?"

"I just climbed out of the Byzantium. You were there. So young and didn't have a clue who I was. You're funny like that," River took a sip. "Where are you?"

"The Doctor's dead. Sherlock Holmes is dead," Amy took a big gulp.

"How are you doing?"

"How do you think?" Amy looked over at her.

"Well I don't know until you tell me."

"I killed someone. Madame Kovarian, in cold blood."

"In an aborted timeline, in a world that never was."

"Yeah, well, I can remember it, so it happened. Like how I can remember how my friend jumped to his death," Amy rubbed her forehead, the memories of both deaths seeping in. "I need to talk to the Doctor, or even Sherlock, but I can't now."

"If you could talk to either of them, would it make a difference?"

"The Doctor's dead, Sherlock's dead, so I can't."

"Oh, mother, of course the Doctor isn't," River put her hand on Amy's leg.

"Not for you, I suppose. You're seeing the younger versions of him, running around, having adventures."

"Yeah, I am," River grinned widely. "But that's not what I mean."

"Then what do you mean?"

"Okay, I'm going to tell you what I probably shouldn't. The Doctor's last secret. Don't you want to know what he whispered into my ear? It certainly wasn't his name."

"What did he whisper in your ear?" Amy's heart was beginning to beat faster. "River, what did he tell you? River!"

River laughed. And soon, Amy did too. The Doctor was alive. They toasted to that when they both settled down. When Amy sat down, gloom settled into her mind again when the thought of her telling Sherlock about her past creeped in. River caught onto this.

River held onto her hand, "Do you remember the day you were in Cardiff? And John called you?"

Amy nodded.

"Do you remember what you said?"

"It doesn't matter. Sherlock isn't the Doctor. He couldn't possibly have survived that jump. John was there, and he found no pulse."

"Amy. Do you remember?"

Amy took a moment to think, but eventually shook her head.

"You said, 'The day Sherlock Holmes stops, if he can, will be the day you look down on his body on a slab in St. Bart's.'"

"What are you going on about?" Amy was confused.

"Think," River smirked.

Amy took a few minutes to think about what she said, and she replayed the moment that Sherlock killed himself. She remembered not being able to move. She remembered John getting knocked down and unable to walk to Sherlock's body without stumbling, which meant that even he could have made mistakes diagnosing Sherlock, and she did remember not actually seeing Sherlock's body. She did not look down on his body lying on a slab in St. Bart's.

"River," Amy looked at her daughter with wide eyes.

"Oh, that man, he's always one step ahead of everyone," River interjected. "A so-called game changer, wouldn't you say?"

"Is he alive?" Amy got up close to her. "Is he really alive?"

"Spoi-" River broke out into a big grin. "Should I even say it?"

Meanwhile …

London was large enough for being inconspicuous, and since everyone thought that Sherlock Holmes was dead, it was the perfect hiding place. It only took a week to find out the schedules of his brother, Lestrade, and John so as to not accidentally bump into one of them. It was easy – it wasn't as if the fall had affected his deducing skills in any way.

Sherlock Holmes watched his friends from a distance. He watched as they entered a stage of emotional exhaustion and distress. He watched as John got beat up the night he decided to do some heavy drinking, but wasn't able to do anything. He watched as Amy planned his funeral and eventually left London. The inability to do nothing took a toll on him, but he did manage to place himself in ways that his friends wouldn't have expected. The night John gotten into a drunken fight, Sherlock called a cab to get John home. The time Amy called Molly for help, Sherlock offered the name of a funeral director he knew would keep up the pretense that he was dead. He was still there in their lives, but they just didn't know it.

The region of London he was in was far from anyone that he knew. Walking around meant no one would recognize him, even during the day time. But there was one day, just a few months after his supposed suicide, that he heard his name being called out.

"Sherlock Holmes!" the man a few yards behind yelled.

Sherlock didn't know whether to stop, or to continue. Nobody was supposed to know he was alive.

"Sherlock! Hey!" the man continued.

Sherlock decided to stop and find out how this person knew him. He turned around and looked at the man standing before him.

"Hello, well! Sherlock Holmes," the man shook his hand. "It's so very nice to meet you."

"How do you know who I am?"

"How does one know anyone, really?"

Sherlock tilted his head to the side.

"Through friends, acquaintances, y'know, that lot," the man smiled and answered his own question.

"And do we have a common friend or acquaintance?" Sherlock stared him down.

"Oh yes, we most certainly do!" the man smiled cheerily.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes and began to deduce, but the sight of something blue in the distance caught his eyes. It was a 1960's police box sitting in the most unusual spot.

"Ah, yes, that is mine!" the man caught Sherlock's gaze and turned around and pointed at it.

"A police box?"

"Oh, yes," the man in the bow tie proudly proclaimed.

Sherlock broke off his gaze and looked back at the man standing in front of him, but began turning away seeing as the conversation was going nowhere, "I don't have many friends. So the chances of sharing one are quite slim."

Sherlock took a few steps before the man said two words in a very serious tone, "Amy Pond."

Sherlock stopped in his tracks and whipped his body around, "Who are you?"

"Amy's told you about me, I'm sure," the man smirked.

Sherlock walked up to him. The man stood his ground.

"I don't believe so," Sherlock looked away. "You most certainly aren't her husband."

"Yes, on the roof of St. Bart's, before your fall. It was the first sentence she said to you," he started.

Sherlock's memory went into overdrive, and he found himself standing on that rooftop once more with Amy by his side.

He heard Amy spoke, with the Doctor's present voice in tandem, "The Doctor is a 900 year old time travelling alien whose TARDIS is a time machine."

Sherlock blinked and looked at the man.

He smiled, "Hello. I'm the Doctor."

TO BE CONTINUED?

Hello! Thank you very much for reading my story! As of right now, I am contemplating on whether to continue this when season 3 of Sherlock airs (attempting to keep things somewhat canon if I continue) or to end it here, but I suppose I'll make the decision when the show comes back!

Otherwise, thanks again for reading and I really hope you enjoyed it - I certainly enjoyed writing it.

Take a peek at some other stories that I'm writing - fancy a crossover between Mary Poppins and Doctor Who? Or maybe something with Peter Pan and the Doctor? If that isn't something you're into, which is totally fine, keep your eyes out for more Sherlock/DW stories from me in the near future!