(( Hi guys! Big apologies for my monthly absence. I had to take a hiatus. But I AM BACK! Sorry I left you all on that cliffhanger. But here it is, the next chapter. I hope you enjoy it. You've all been so nice to me! I never actually thought anyone would like my story. So thanks.

I now have a new laptop, so it will be a lot easier for me to write and upload. I can't promise regular uploads, I promised that before and yeah... But I will try. I am fully invested in this story ten months on. ))

"Woops, is that the time?"

Looking at her watch, Amy realized it was now twenty minutes to midnight. The time had somehow flown by without her even giving it a second thought. She had promised herself that she would be back at the flat before ten. Except she had been having too much of a good time catching up with Molly, who had become even more bubbly and even more lovely as the night had progressed (and not so much of a good time having to tell Mikey several goddamn times that Sherlock was not her boyfriend).

As if he was. He is sooooo not my type.

"It's been great fun, but I-I really should be, er, going home." Her legs wobbled when she went to grab her bag. For a moment, she almost thought she might fall. "Blimey, how many have I had?"

"Enough," giggled an amused Molly. "You're right, you should go."

"That's what I said."

Molly giggled girlishly once more. "O-oh yeah." Mikey was the only completely sober one between the three of them, for he had been less interested in drinking and more interested in Molly. Amy couldn't help but notice that he looked somewhat annoyed. I think I may have got in the way.

The 'see-ya-later's' were quick. After shrugging on her jacket, Amy left the bar to be greeted by the crisp cool night air. It was the middle of February now. She had been living with Sherlock for almost two months.

In the end, after contemplating on whether to get a cab (which would have been the wisest decision) she decided to walk. The air would help to sober her up. Besides, it wasn't like she was so drunk that couldn't see where she was walking or remember her way back - Baker Street wasn't that far anyway. Yes, her head was spinning but she could still keep in a straight line and see clearly.

Her night with Molly had been a laugh, and although she wasn't completely sated with how her life was right now, she was okay with it. She was enjoying her stay in London more than she first though and spending time with Sherlock and helping him solve this current case was a distraction she most welcomed from everything else that was going so wrong in her life.

On wards she walked, not really taking anything in, yet still very much aware of her surroundings. She loved the sound of the busy congestion and people nattering away at night; the colours of the many shop and street lights that danced before her eyes. Cities were her favorite places. There was so much to see and do. It was her kind of playground when she wasn't travelling through space and time.

Up ahead, there was a crowd of people, huddled together around an alleyway like spectators of a fight. That was probably what was going on. It wouldn't surprise her if it was. Even though she tried her best to avoid the rabble of bodies she still got evolved into it. That was when she spotted the man sagged against the alley's wall. And not just any man -

"Sherlock!"

Thank God I decided to walk home.

Struggling through the mass of warm, animated bodies she went to his aid, instantly checking for his pulse. Alive, just out cold. Of all the people to get knocked out, she didn't expect Sherlock Holmes to be one of them. "Someone found him here moments ago," a bulky man in a striped jumper told her. She tried to wake him. It took a while but he, very slowly, came round. People were offering to get help but Amy had other ideas.

"What -"

"Don't talk," she silenced him, pulled out her mobile and called John. Amy guessed that Sherlock wouldn't like to wake up in a hospital bed, so she took him back to 221b with the help of two strangers and a cab. Throughout the journey, Sherlock repeatedly kept trying to tell her what had happened, however he wasn't making much sense. All Amy kept hearing were the words 'woman', 'Amy' and 'friend'. And yet she felt she knew what he meant.

"Urgh."

It was three-thirty AM when Sherlock came round, finding himself haphazzardly spwarled out on the sofa. Once the blurred vision subsided he tilted his head, seeing Amy sat at the desk with her head resting heavily on the table. "How did I get here?"

Hearing him, Amy bolted upright, her hair a mess and her make-up smothered across her face but much too worried about Sherlock to care. She hadn't slept. She had tried to, yet sleep eluded her.

When he tried to move she was soon by his side, forcing him back down with a firm yet gentle hand. "It's alright. I brought you back. John came here to help. He stitched your head while you were partly awake, then you passed out."

"I don't remember that..."

"You wouldn't."

"You look terrible."

"So do you." She smiled, then wiped her hands down her face, feeling incredibly tired.

"I'm fine."

"No you're not, stupid."

"I am not stupid."

"Look, just shut up and drink this." She handed him a glass of water which he took from her when he was finally upright. "Take this."

Frowning, he looked at the asprin, then shook his head. "This is no good, it wont d-"

"Just take it, Sherlock! And then I can go to bed."

"I am perfectly capable of looking after myself, thank you." He was irritated.

"I don't doubt that. But will just do as you're told for now?"

He mumbled something she couldn't make out, taking the asprin with annoyance. He would be fine. He knew he would be.

"You were found in an alleyway," she began, easing herself back up, stretching, "and you attracted quite an audience."

"Don't people have anything better to do?" he sighed briskly.

"They were worried, Sherlock."

"Why? They don't know me."

"I suspect they thought you were dead. In the light of previous events it is completely natural for people to worry!"

"I suppose you're right about that." He shrugged his shoulders and stared blankly at the wall for a few small seconds before he began to explain to Amy what had happened to him. The woman, the things she said, the streak of light he saw at the end. The event was still a bit hazy in his mind but he was Sherlock Holmes. He never forgot anything completely.

"What did she want with me?" Amy quizzed him, folding her arms.

"She said you know someone who has something of hers. Something that she wants back. She was very desperate for it."

Oh. She had an inkling she knew who this someone was. It had his fingerprints all over the situation. She had a very strong feeling that the Doctor had got himself into trouble. Serious trouble.

"She looked like one of the victims we saw earlier. And she was strong," he continued while thinking hugely about the event, "stronger than I'd expect anyone to be. Normally, I would be able to fight someone off, but... It's all very interesting, isn't it?"

"This is all too similar to the Joe Vidal case."

"It is exactly the same," he stated, sounding a tad frustrated. "We can't waste anymore time. We need to find out what they want before it happens again."

"I think I have a theory," she piped up after a moments thought.

"What?"

"I'll tell you later."