"John told me how you liked your coffee. I figured making you a cup was the least I could do," Amy said to Sherlock who sipped happily. "Sorry for waking you up," She smiled up at him and took a drink of her coffee.
"It's fine. I've learned to function on as little sleep as possible," Sherlock said. Amy tried to stand up and pain shot through her body. Realizing getting up without help wasn't an option she sat down cross-legged at Sherlock's feet, careful to not spill the hot contents of her mug down the front of whoever's clothes she was wearing. Sherlock gave her a perplexed look and continued to drink his coffee. Amy sat awkwardly for a few minutes trying to figure out what to say to him. What exactly do you say to someone you've only met twice but they've saved your life and now you're in their flat and possibly in their clothes?Amy thought to herself. Thankfully Sherlock filled the silence for her.
"How are you feeling?" Sherlock asked somewhat shyly. It was almost as if he had never woken up in the same room as a woman before. Amy couldn't believe that was even a possibility for him. He could be a bit abrasive, and he was quite possibly a sociopath, but Sherlock Holmes was the epitome of tall, dark, and handsome. How could any woman resist him? And Sherlock was only a man, after all.
Amy shrugged, "Alright, I guess. My head and wrist are killing me. But I'll take this over brutally murdered any day of the week." She finished her coffee and set the empty mug on the floor. She used her hands to turn herself around so her back was facing Sherlock then she leaned against his legs. "So are you going to explain to me how I wound up at your flat and more importantly in your bed?" Amy said playfully. She couldn't see the look Sherlock was giving her but she assumed he was giving her one anyway. She wondered when he would realize she found
"Angelo called me. He found you on his doorstep," Sherlock said blankly. Amy started to say something but was cut off by Sherlock's phone ringing. He let out and annoyed huff then reached in to his jacket after it. He briefly looked at the screen of his phone then answered it with an annoyed hello. Amy picked at her chipping nail polish as she listened to the one-sided conversation. After a few minutes she started to get bored and laid her head back on Sherlock's knees.
"She's fine, Lestrade. We have her at the flat," Sherlock said, contesting whatever Lestrade had been saying about Amy. "It's not as if I've taken her from all medical care. John is here too. And she kept complaining about the doctor leaving her while she was at the hospital anyway," Sherlock added on. Amy's eyes widened and she became hyperaware of her own heartbeat pounding in her ears. She tried to recall anything she might have said while she was out but she couldn't tell if her memories were actually memories that were badly recorded by her drug-ridden mind or hazy dreams. Behind her, Sherlock hung up the phone and grumbled incoherently.
"What did you mean I was complaining about the doctor?" Amy asked, hoping her anxiousness passed as her just being confused. She looked up at him as he was putting his phone back in his pocket, seemingly ignoring her question.
"When we brought you back to the flat you woke up for a few minutes and you asked me to stay with you because the doctor kept leaving you," Sherlock answered when his gaze met hers. "I doubt you remember it," he added.
"You're right, I don't," Amy replied, internally suppressing her mortification and relief that Sherlock had assumed she was talking about one of the hospital doctors, not the madman with the blue box.
"You're embarrassed by it though," Sherlock pointed out.
"Why would I be embarrassed?" Amy said quickly, trying to cover herself. "I don't even remember it."
"Your heart rate has sped up, your cheeks are flushed, you're picking at your nails. The real question is what are you embarrassed of?" He asked smoothly. His eyes searched hers for some kind of clue to prove a deduction she knew he was forming in his head. Amy smirked and lifted her head from his knees. She tried to push herself up again but her arms were too sore and weak to support her weight. Noticing her struggle, Sherlock carefully stood up behind her and extended his hands out to her. They locked wrists and Sherlock pulled her up. Her legs shook a bit and Sherlock held on to her waist to steady her. Amy held on to his arms and tried to regain control of her legs.
"I don't remember my legs being this wobbly earlier," Amy said with a little laugh. "But then again, you were still asleep," she added.
"Lestrade will be here soon to question you. You can have a shower if you'd like," Sherlock said, his blank expression never faltering. But Amy knew better than to trust his expressions to tell her anything. His grip hand tightened slightly on her waist, his eyes were bright with curiosity. She could feel her knees getting weak again. Men could throw themselves at her and she barely noticed but all Sherlock Holmes had to do was look at her and captured her attention. Amy slid her hands up Sherlock's arms to his shoulder and stood on her toes to gently kiss his cheek, dangerously close to the corner of his mouth.
"Thank you," she said softly, her lips hovering above where she kissed him. She pulled away and started to lower herself back on to flat feet but Sherlock's grip held her in place. Amy ran her hands from his shoulders to the sides of his neck and leaned in closer. The distance between their lips was barely there and the Amy felt like the butterflies in her stomach would burst out at any moment. But before either she or Sherlock could eradicate the space between them, John called their names from the living room.
"Amy, have you got him up yet?" John asked. Sherlock and Amy heard his footsteps coming down the hall after them. Sherlock released his hold on Amy and she reluctantly did the same. John knocked on the door and entered just as Sherlock put a generous gap between him and Amy again.
"It took a little bit of force but I got him up," Amy said cheerily, as if her mind wasn't reeling over what had almost occurred.
"Good," John said, eyeing her and Sherlock. "Are you still in pain?" he asked her.
"A little. I'm mostly just stiff and sore. Nothing a hot bath won't fix," she assured him. "Sherlock was just escorting me to the bathroom, actually," she said and nudged him.
"Yes. I figured it would be best to get her cleaned up before Lestrade showed up," Sherlock added.
"Why is Lestrade coming here?" John asked.
"To question Amy about last night. Well, technically this morning." Sherlock replied. He reached out to Amy who had braced herself against the side of his bed. He put her arm around his neck and looked up at John. "A little help?" Sherlock said to him. John rushed to Amy's other side and guided her arm over his neck and the two men helped walk her to the end of the hall where the bathroom was.
Amy sat on the edge of the tub next Sherlock while he ran the water and John got towels. She glided her hand through the warm water as it filled the tub up then pulled it out and flicked her fingers off her thumb, sending tiny water droplets at Sherlock. Unamused, Sherlock looked over at her and glowered. Amy chuckled then went back to running her hand through the water. John returned with two towels that he placed on the sink then stood hesitantly.
"Do you need anything else? Some tea or something?" He asked.
"Some tea would be nice, thank you." Amy replied.
John nodded and looked at Sherlock. "What about you, Sherlock?" he inquired.
"Of course," Sherlock said quickly.
"Right, okay. I'll go put the kettle on." John said and stepped out.
"Alone again," Amy said. Sherlock turned the water off and looked over at her in a way she had never seen from him. She tried to anticipate what he would do next but he was doing an excellent job of making sure she couldn't read him. She pulled her hand out of the water and wiped it dry on her pajama bottoms then reached over and put her hand on top of his. Sherlock flinched at her touch and Amy expect him to pull away. To her surprise, he flipped his hand over and laced his fingers halfway though hers. For the first time, Amy was unsure of what to do when it came to Sherlock. When she met him, she thought he would just be something fun to chase; a temporary adventure until another one came along. She wanted to learn what buttons to push to make him mad or curious or happy even if he didn't let it show. But when he replied to her small gesture with one of his own, that changed everything. She was a dog chasing a car that she never expected to catch up to, only keep up with. But when she realized she might have caught her car, it dawned on her that she wasn't sure what to do with it. She barely knew him or anything about him but now her heart was set on him. So she sat with him at the edge of the bathtub, their hands half intertwined, and silent until John tapped on the door.
"Sherlock, Lestrade is here," he said tentatively.
"I'll be right there," Sherlock replied. He waited for John's footsteps to fade away before he turned to Amy. "I trust you'll be alright by yourself," he said softly. The smoothness in his voice sent chills down Amy's spine.
"Of course I'll be fine," she replied, crinkling her nose as she smiled. "I'm always fine."
With that, Sherlock unlaced their fingers then stood up and left without saying another word. For the first time in several hours, Amy was completely alone. She carefully pushed herself up and shimmied out of her clothes. After hanging them on the back of the door, she sunk in to the warm bath water until it was under her chin and closed her eyes. She concentrated on she sound of her own breathing and the sound the water made as it settled and shifted when she moved. In those moments, everything was calm. Even her sleep earlier that morning wasn't as peaceful. Just as she started to nod off, voices outside the door startled her. She lifted herself up and strained to hear what was being said but most of it was too muffled for her to make out. Then Sherlock's voice resonated through.
"I think I know what I'm doing, John," Sherlock growled.
"Sherlock! Lower your voice," an unfamiliar woman's voice said quickly.
"We're just asking you to be careful, is all," another voice added. It sounded like John but she couldn't be sure. She heard someone say her name followed by Rory's and her heart jumped up in to her throat. Before she could hear anymore, she submerged herself until water haloed around her face. The wound on the back of her head stung and tears of frustration welled up. Amy took a deep breath and sunk farther in the water so nothing but her knees were above it and tried to focus on the dull throbbing of her head to block everything else out. In all the commotion she had forgotten about Rory. Sweet, lovely Rory who would have came home exhausted from working all night, expecting to come home and see Amy asleep on the couch where she fell asleep waiting up for him. Instead he would come home to an empty house. She wondered if he knew where she was and what happened, or if he was scouring the city trying to find her. And she didn't know which would be worse.
Then it hit her all at one; five people in five different parts of the city were wondering where she was. Or they knew someone had drugged and attacked her and now she was what could loosely be called police custody and were worried about her. Then the weight of what happened came crashing next. She had been attacked and narrowly escaped by jumping out of a moving cab and dragging herself to the doorstep of the only person she knew in a ten mile radius and passing out there, hoping someone would find her. For the second time in less than a year, she woke up feeling lucky to be alive. She had survived two situations where she shouldn't have had any hope to make it out. She wasn't sure which side of lucky that put her on.
Suddenly a hand reached through the water, grabbed her arm and pulled her out of the water. Amy opened her mouth to yell in shock but water rushed in and suffocated the sound. When she surfaced, she sputtered and wiped her eyes and came face to face with a frantic John.
"Holy shit, John!" Amy yelled and quickly tried to cover herself with her hands and arms. Behind John stood Sherlock, a older woman Amy didn't know and a man with salt and pepper colored hair and a badge that she assumed was Lestrade. "What the hell is going on?" she said angrily.
"We thought you were-" John started to say but was quickly interrupted.
"John thought you had passed out and drowned," Sherlock said from the doorway, glaring at the back of John's head.
John rolled his eyes and continued, "I came to tell you the tea was ready and when you didn't answer, I came to check on you and you were under the water."
"I was just enjoying my first moment of privacy for the first time since I left my flat yesterday," Amy explained. "Why are there three other people in here?"
"We heard yelling that something happened. We're so sorry, dear," the woman said empathetically. Sherlock turned and walked down the hall, grumbling to himself as he went.
"I'm alright. Completely mortified that four people have seen me in the bath but other than that I'm happy as a clam," Amy assured them.
"Right," Lestrade said after clearing his throat. "We'll just let you get dressed then" He ushered John and the women out and closed the door behind him. Amy let out a long exhale before stepping out of the bathtub and wrapping a thick towel around her body. She used the second towel to dry her hair then drained the water from the tub.
A few minutes after her bathroom ordeal she padded in to the living room in the t-shirt and pajama bottoms with the dressing gown wrapped tightly around her. The three men sat at the table in the middle of the room while Mrs. Hudson cheerily delivered cups of tea and plates of food. Amy sat down in the empty chair between Sherlock and Lestrade quietly and Mrs. Hudson put a cup of tea down in front of her. When the men at the table realized Amy had joined them, they all looked up at her from their respective reading materials. A few awkward moments passed where no one knew what to say so Amy piped up.
"Well, it's not every day I walk in to a room full of people who have seen me naked," she shrugged and took a sip of tea. She reached over and took the newspaper from Sherlock and skimmed through it. The three men looked away from her and down at their food in embarrassment. On the front page was an article about London's one and only consulting detective rescuing a mysterious damsel in distress in the early hours of the morning. "Look, Sherlock! We made the front page," Amy said with false enthusiasm and squeezed his knee. John choked on his coffee and Lestrade looked back over to her with wide eyes.
"And you're excited about that?" Sherlock asked her with his eyebrows raised.
"That was sarcasm, stupid face," Amy sighed and flipped the page of the newspaper. John snorted and Lestrade let out a chuckle at Amy's insult to Sherlock. Sherlock simply glared back at them.
"So, Amelia," Lestrade started.
Amy cut him off quickly. "It's just Amy. Amelia is a bit fairytale," she corrected.
"Okay. Amy, we're going to have to ask you a few questions about what happened to you," Lestrade said and pulled a small pad of paper and a pen out of his jacket pocket.
"Oh, just let the poor girl have her breakfast and cuppa!" the older woman scolded and swatted Lestrade with a dish towel.
"Mrs. Hudson, I don't want to keep your boys any longer than I have to," Lestrade told her.
"You can wait ten bloody minutes!" Mrs. Hudson told him and swatted him again. "Amy, dear, what would you like to eat?"
"I'll just have some toast," Amy said and smiled at her. Mrs. Hudson nodded and patted her shoulder before returning to the kitchen.
"You really should eat more than just toast," John told Amy.
"I think she can handle herself, Dr. Watson," Sherlock said blankly.
"I forgot you were a doctor, John! Dr. Watson," Amy teased.
"Settle down, Miss Pond," Sherlock replied.
Amy looked up from the newspaper and met his gaze. His eyes that were bright with curiosity before were now dark and angry. He was angry with her. "So now I'm 'Miss Pond'?" Amy asked indignantly. Sherlock smirked and took a sip of his drink. Mrs. Hudson delivered Amy's toast and went back down to her flat, leaving the other four to eat in silence. Amy nibbled her way through her first piece of toasts as she read the paper, trying to shrug off Sherlock's attitude. But she only got halfway through the second piece before throwing it down on the plate, finishing the rest of her tea, then standing up and brushing the crumbs off her lap. "A word, Mr. Holmes?" She said, then walked down the hall to his room and waited for him to follow. He stormed in behind her and slammed the door.
"What is this about?" He asked. His voice was low and he used every bit of the two inches of height he had on her to tower above, dominating Amy as best he could. Every inch of their bodies were only a fraction of an inch from each other. They were two pieces of an ambivalent puzzle that were meant to fit together, but both of them were caught up in the rush of the cliffhanger. In Amy's mind, those moments directly before you jumped off the cliff where half the fun. She loved the feeling of wanting something, of having something in her reach but not yet having it in her grasp. And she knew that jumping only had two outcomes: you found a way to save yourself, to stop in mid-air before you hit the ground and fall perpetually, or you enjoyed the fall while you had the chance and prepared yourself for when you inevitably hit the ground. She knew the feeling of the later. When she fell for Rory, she knew it would happen one way or another. She knew they would either get tired of each other or realize that no matter how much they loved each other, they weren't meant for one another. And with the Doctor's return always a possibility, Amy never expected to escape the landing. So she braced herself for it from the start.
The former was something Amy never considered a realistic possibility. When she was seven, she jumped and landed all in one night; the night she met the Doctor. Nothing had felt better than sitting across from him eating fish fingers and custard and nothing hurt more than watching him go, leaving nothing but a promise behind. But she climbed back up the cliff and waited at the top for him to come back. She assumed that if she was going to expect someone to keep her from hitting the ground, to make her fall forever, would be a mad man with a time machine.
Then there was Sherlock. Before you could jump and fall for Sherlock, you had to get through his maze right at the top. He could prolong the rush of wanting something within your reach so badly. He was a third option that Amy could never have fathomed. No jumping, no falling, no landing, no hurting. If falling forever was truly a fairytale option, this was the next best thing. And in theory there would be no mess to clean up when it was all done. Amy couldn't resist. Standing in front of her was everything she was looking for and everything she wanted, embodied and attainable. The only way to get through a maze is to step in to it. Amy swallowed hard and mustered up all the confidence she had.
"I have something to say to you," she told him.