A/N:

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-Han

two

At around 6:05 the next evening, Amy pulled on a soft dark blue sweater that she'd just bought, her black skirt, and her boots. Pulling her hair back into a loose twist, she went up to 221b for her tea with Sherlock and John.

John answered the door with a smile. "Hello, Amy. Good timing, I've just put the kettle on," he said. "Come on in."

"Thanks." She entered, taking a seat on the surprisingly comfortable sofa.

Her eyes flicked around the room, taking in the cluttered space. The flat seemed comfortable, if not a little cramped with all the various objects scattered about. There were plenty of books – shelves of them, in fact – which pleased her immensely. Maybe she'd be able to borrow some.

Eventually, Amy's gaze landed on Sherlock. He was sitting in one of the two armchairs, his eyes fixed intently on her. Refusing to let it show how much it unnerved her, she stared back, lifting her chin.

John poked his head out of the kitchen, oblivious to the intense staring contest that was taking place. "Amy, how do you like your tea?"

"Milk, two sugars," she responded, giving him a distracted smile before looking at Sherlock again.

Sherlock's eyebrows drew inward slightly. He was not looking at her as though he found her beautiful; he was looking at her as a puzzle, a mystery he could not solve.

Amy leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees and putting her chin in her hands. She would not be intimidated by him.

A little smile grew on Amy's lips as she realized what Sherlock was doing. He was studying her, trying to figure her out. Well, two could play at that game.

John came into the room again, holding three mugs. As he handed Amy and Sherlock their respective cups of tea, he finally seemed to notice the tension in the room. "What's wrong? Sherlock, did you say something rude?"

Amy lifted her eyebrows, leaning back and sipping her tea. "Actually, he hasn't said a word. He's just been sitting there staring at me." She smirked, adding, "Go on, Sherly, tell John what you think of me."

Sherlock took a breath.

"You've been traveling – with a friend, not a lover, but someone you care for deeply. He left you behind unexpectedly, which is why you're here. The other night, you were looking for him – that's why you were running. You believe he'll be back soon, despite the fact that he's left you behind for a long period of time before. So, childhood friend. You met him when you were very young. He had to leave, somewhere you couldn't follow. You parted on friendly terms, but he took longer than you expected to return. By the time you came back you were probably angry, since you trusted him and he abandoned you. But enough on that. You're Scottish, and despite living in England for most of your life you've managed to retain your accent to a strong degree. This suggests stubbornness, which is not uncommon, especially for a Scottish woman. You've lost someone, someone very dear to you – a boyfriend? Husband? No, boyfriend or fiancé is more likely, since you're only twenty-one. Am I right, Amelia Pond?"

Amy stared at him for a moment before picking her jaw up off the floor. "Uh... you're right, almost."

"Almost?" Sherlock frowned.

"I don't have a fiancé. I never have. I didn't lose anybody," she said, and it came out sharper than she'd intended.

"Amy, are you all right?" John asked suddenly, sounding concerned.

"Yeah, fine. Why wouldn't I be?"

"Because, uh... you're crying."

Amy reached up to touch her cheek. Her fingers came away wet, and it was then that she noticed the strange tight feeling in her throat. But she wasn't crying, she had no reason to be. So why...?

"You aren't lying," Sherlock said, so softly she barely heard him. "There's something else here, something missing, but –"

Amy cut him off. "How could you tell all that about me?" she asked, changing the subject. "Are you psychic or something?"

Sherlock rolled her eyes. "Psychic? No. I'm observant."

"Oh?" She sipped her tea, smiling like she had a secret.

"Something to share?" he asked her condescendingly.

Amy grinned, leaning forward a little.

"From what I can tell, I have several ideas about your line of work. You've got experiments in the kitchen, test tubes and stuff. Lots of books, too. So you could be a scientist or a teacher. Teacher's unlikely, since your flat is so messy. I know all this stuff can't be John's. You dislike people so much that you probably like children even less, so teacher is definitely out. Scientist is the more likely of the two, but even that one is doubtful. You don't seem to have the personality, let alone the temperament, of any kind of scientist. So the experiments and books are purely for gaining knowledge. You're so good at reading people, you could be a psychiatrist, but I've been around enough psychiatrists to know that you definitely aren't one. That leaves the police force, but I don't think you look like a copper. Still, you do work with the police. Detective – no, private detective; although you're young, twenty-seven at most, you're smart, which is why have a job like that. You get bored quite easily by everyday life and people, but you aren't bored now, are you?"

Silence reigned in the room as Sherlock and John stared at Amy. The ginger smiled smugly, leaning back and sipping her tea once more as she waited.

John was the first to speak. "That… was incredible," he said slowly. "How did you…?"

"I'm observant," she smirked.

Sherlock was looking at her as if he wasn't quite sure whether he wanted to slap her or kiss her. She was enjoying it immensely.

"How'd I do, Sherly?"

He blinked, clearing his throat. "Close, but not quite right," he informed her. "Not a private detective, a consulting detective. The only one in the world."

"What the hell is a 'consulting detective'?"

"When the police are out of their depth – which is almost always – they consult me for help."

Amy considered this. "So then, John, you're his partner?"

"Uh... yes, I am," John answered, still seeming stunned from Amy's deduction of Sherlock.

"You poor thing, having to live with him all day," she said cheekily, and John laughed a little while Sherlock looked annoyed.

Amy finished her tea and set her cup down, rising from the sofa and heading toward the door. "Thank you for the tea, Mr. Holmes, Dr. Watson."

John blinked. "Wait, how did you know that I'm a doctor?"

She winked flirtatiously. "Haven't you figured it out yet? You should never underestimate me," she teased as she opened the door.

As she stepped into the hallway, she could have sworn she saw Sherlock smile.

[SMS]

To: Sherlock Holmes

From: Unknown number

Ooh, who's the ginger? Can't be another of Johnny Boy's, she's too pretty. x -JM