A/N:

My apologies for not updating yesterday. This chapter still needed some refining, and I didn't get a lot of time to write until today.

I've picked a new (permanent) title for this fanfiction, Matters of the Heart. Let me know what you guys think of the title and of this chapter!

-Han

three

Amelia Pond didn't make sense.

Sherlock folded his hands under his chin, deep in thought. She was clever, almost as clever as Sherlock himself, and she knew it too. He could only tell so much about her, and he had a feeling that he had barely even begun to scratch the surface of who she really was. She had secrets. Secrets, perhaps, that were hidden so deep that even she didn't know them. He recalled how she had cried without realizing it when he had mentioned her losing someone. She had seemed just as confused by it as he and John were.

Sherlock closed his eyes. He had never come across such a mystery as this woman, not since Moriarty.

He sat up, his eyes opening again. What if she was working for Moriarty? That could explain the text he had gotten – it might be a hint that Miss Pond was one of Moriarty's spies.

"Where are you going?" John asked as Sherlock abruptly rose to his feet.

"Nowhere," Sherlock replied, heading over to the door. "You should sleep, John, it's getting late."

Indeed, it was nearly 11 o'clock by that time. Sherlock heard John sigh in annoyance, but he ignored it as he opened the door and headed purposefully down the stairs to 221c.

Amy yawned, curling up on the somewhat lumpy bed in the corner of her flat. She couldn't stop thinking about her new neighbors, especially Sherlock. They were both so different from how she had expected her neighbors to be. She knew the Doctor would get along fantastically with John.

Oh, Doctor, when will you come back for me?

Amy sighed, closing her eyes. She'd found the TARDIS that night two days ago, but it had been too late. It was already disappearing with that familiar wheezing groan.

"Doctor, come back!" she had screamed, running toward it. It was fading quickly, vanishing before her eyes. "Don't do this to me! You can't just leave me here! Come back!"

She shook her head to banish the memory and sat up a little, reaching for her phone. When she had figured out that Sherlock and John were detectives, she had wanted to try and find them on the Internet, and now was as good a time as any.

Amy had typed as far as "Sherlo" when there was a sudden, sharp knock at her door, making her jump. She put her phone down and went to answer it, wondering who on earth would be knocking on her door at 11 o'clock –

"Hello, Amelia," Sherlock said.

She grinned. "Hi, Sherly," she greeted him, opening the door wider. "Care to come in?"

The detective said nothing, just stepped inside the small flat. Amy closed the door behind him, turning to ask why he had come.

But she didn't get a chance. As soon as she moved away from the door, Sherlock whirled to face her, catching one of her thin wrists in his hand and speaking quite forcefully.

"What do you know about Jim Moriarty?"

Amy's mouth opened, but she was too startled to speak.

"Tell me." He moved closer, tightening his grip on her wrist.

"I – nothing!" she burst out, trying to free herself. "I've never even heard that name before!"

Sherlock nodded, releasing her and stepping away. Amy rubbed her wrist, glaring at him.

"So?" she demanded after a moment. "What was that about?"

"I had to make sure you talked quickly and didn't lie," he explained.

She pouted, crossing the room and sitting on her bed. "Fine. But you owe me an explanation. Who's this Moriarty person?"

"That's none of your business," he said shortly.

"Oi!" Amy cried, sitting up straighter. "I think it is my business! You can't just storm in here demanding if I know this guy and then not tell me about him."

Sherlock sighed impatiently. "He's a very dangerous person," he told her. "I thought you might have been working for him."

She frowned. "You thought I was, what, an assassin? A spy? Just because I could 'observe' some things about you and your flat?" she asked incredulously.

"That, and I received a message from Moriarty shortly after you left. The content of the message suggested he had seen you in my flat, and I took this as a possible hint that you were working for him. I was obviously wrong," he said, a little stiffly.

"Wait!" Amy shot to her feet, horrified. "You mean he saw me? In your flat?" she cried.

"Yes." Sherlock looked thoughtful. "He must have cameras somewhere in my flat. I really should find them."

"Like hell you should!" Amy nearly yelled. "I'm not going back to your flat until you do! I don't want some dangerous man spying on me while I'm there!"

Sherlock frowned at her. "Why would you be coming back to my flat?"

She glowered back, moving to sit back down on the bed. "Because we're neighbors," she said, a little more softly. "I befriend my neighbors – as long as they don't think I'm crazy, that is."

He chuckled a little. "Why would they think you were crazy?"

Amy smiled slyly, not answering his question. "You think you're so clever, don't you?"

"I am so clever," he said, like he was offended.

"Sure you are." She patted the spot on the bed next to her. "Have a seat, Sherly."

He rolled his eyes. "I'd appreciate it if you didn't call me that bothersome name," he said as he crossed the room and sat down next to her.

"I know," she said, grinning. In the slightly-dim light of the cheap lamp, Sherlock's eyes were pale grey, with no hint of the blue she had seen earlier. "So, tell me more about this man."

"Moriarty is not a man, not really. He's a spider at the center of a web, a criminal web with a thousand threads and he knows precisely how each and every single one of them dances. He's a consulting criminal."

"A consulting criminal…" Amy echoed. "So, that means people come to him if they want something done, right?"

"Exactly. His web, his network is so large, he can arrange practically anything. You need to disappear without a trace? Someone needs to be conveniently killed? Something needs to be stolen? He can do it."

Amy shuddered. "That's horrible. Why would someone choose to do that with their life?"

Sherlock shrugged. "Any number of reasons. Greed, fear, revenge… though the one I personally suspect is boredom." At her doubtful look, he asked, "What would you choose to do with yourself if you were a genius and a psychopath?"

"Become a detective," Amy replied. "That's what you did, isn't it?"

Sherlock stared at her, then frowned. "I'm not a psychopath. I'm a high-functioning sociopath."

To his irritation, she grinned. "I'm just teasing you, Sherly."

He sat wordless, his stare sharpening into a glare, and she laughed outright.

"You should go back to your flat," she told him, becoming more serious. "If you really are being watched, it isn't safe for you to stay here long."

Sherlock stood and walked quickly to the door, and that would have been the end of it had he not hesitated with his fingertips resting on the door-handle. But he did hesitate, and then he turned to face Amy and told her, "You would do well to be careful, Amelia. Keep away from him."

"Aww, are you worried about me?" she flirted.

He narrowed his eyes, looking her over. "No," he said as he left. "I just thought I might warn you."

[SMS]

To: Sherlock Holmes

From: Unknown number

My, my. Getting attached already, are we, Sherlock? You and Red were alone for quite some time. Were you telling her about me, by any chance? -JM