((I needed more John in the story. I love John. We all love John. This chapter also allowed for some Amy/Rory angst. Well, a bit of it anyway.
I'm gonna add a disclaimer, I haven't done one in a while, so...
I don't own the characters. I have no affiliation with the BBC or these shows. I'm just writing for my own entertainment and for others.
Okay, carry on.))
Research had never been Amelia Pond's favorite thing. At scholl she had lacked interest in it, unless it had been about the invasion of the Romans - the invasion of the hot Italians - ot her most favorite subject: space. This time, it was even more necessary than all of the hours she spent bent over a textbook at school. She had to find out what was going on. 'Alien' kept buzzing away in her mind like a plague of flies, over and over. It was the only logical explanation she had as to why two victims had suddenly risen from the dead.
Googling 'shapeshifting' wasn't her idea of a great night in but she couldn't not do it. It wasn't even nighttime now, anyway.
She had looked at as much information on shapeshifting as she possibly could - from folklore to science-fiction and modern beliefs and scientific fact, coming across some interesting pointers, which she absorbed into her brainbox for safe keeping. Not everything would be useful but it was better to know as much as possible. At one point, she wondered why she was even bothering to search shapeshifting - she knew it was possible. She had seen it before. By the time she had stopped it was gone midday and she had had no sleep.
"Hi, John." After yawning, Amy smiled at the clean-cut male in the living room. She was dressed in her dressing gown and had only just realised how tired she felt. Even if she tried to sleep now she wouldn't.
John had made sure to see that Sherlock was okay. Sherlock was sat on the sofa, still dressed in his clothes from the previous day, complaining that he was bored, fidgeting restlessly.
"You need to stay here and rest." John said the word 'rest' like he was telling off a child. As if Sherlock would ever take notice of that word. Very rarely did he ever do as he was told.
John didn't stay for much longer. "Shut up, Sherlock." He told the detective off for his moaning, accomplashing nothing, finished his coffee and stood up. "Remember. Three 'o' clock tomorrow," he told Sherlock before leaving.
Crossing her arms, Amy glided over to the sofa. "What is happening at three tomorrow?" she questioned her flatmate, perching herself on the arm of the sofa.
Glancing at her, Sherlock shifted. He stoods up. Instead of walking around the coffee table he stepped on it and off it, moving to the window. "I have to go to a fitting," he replied, watching John get into a cab outside.
"For the wedding?" She arched a brow.
"Yes. I am to be his best man."
A grin spread on her lips. "You'd better go then."
He hummed. I promised John that I would, even if I see no point in it. I can't let him down. I've done that enough already.
"Can I come? I need something to keep me occupied on my day off tomorrow?"
He hummed again.
"I'll take that as a yes then."
She left him alone and made herself her favorite drink, green tea. As it fell down her throat it felt lush, like fresh water always did when you're thirsty, and it woke her up to no end. After, she slipped into her room to change. For the past few months she had opted to wear jeans. This time, she chose to wear a skirt, an item of clothing Amy Pond was best known for back in Leadworth, and soon would be again, only this time in London. It was a great feeling to wear what she was most comfortable in after a good while without. Her red sweater kept her warm and makeup helped to disguise the awful purpled shaded bags under her eyes. She was ready for the rest day.
Oh, yeah, she had work...
"How is your head today?" Amy hadn't seen Sherlock for most of the next day because she had been sleeping, catching up on the sleep she had missed the other night.
"Fine." Sherlock was looking much more presentable today. Less worse for wear.
"Good." The red-head smiled. "All thanks to me, of course."
"You only brought me home and gave me an aspirin."
"And I did a good job of it, don't you agree."
"I suppose it could have been worse."
She laughed at that. "One day, mister, I am going to get a proper compliment out of you. And a thank you."
They left the flat an three 'o' clock to attend the fitting. Traffic was blocked to no end. The time in the cab dragged by like a snail. It was times like this that made Amy realize how much she missed time travel.
"What was this theory of yours?"
Amy turned to the consultant detective, then took a quick look at the back of the head that was the taxi driver. "I don't think I should tell you right now..." was all she said. If she mentioned the theory now, God knows what the cabbie would think, let alone Sherlock.
Since when did I let that stop me?
John was surprised to see Amy show up with his friend. "I hope you don't mind me coming? I'll no doubt be bored at home."
"No, it's fine," he replied kindly. "In fact, I could do with a woman's opinion. Mary will kill me if I choose something that isn't decent enough."
At the fitting, Amy stood back and observed as John and Sherlock tried on suits aplenty. It was hilarious to see Sherlock's expressions when John decided he didn't like a certain suit, therefore wanting to try another.
"I don't see what's wrong with this one," Sherlock said, examining the suit he was wearing. A dark grey suit with silver buttons and a white tie.
"I don't like it," said John.
"It's John's big day. It needs to be perfect," gushed Amy. She understood exactly how John was feeling. It had taken her months to find the right dress for her wedding, and Rory had spent even longer choosing which suit he wanted, bless his -
No. She stopped thinking about her own wedding and moved on, focusing her attention on the boys. She would not allow herself to regret her divorce or break down into a jibbering mess.
John made Sherlock try on more suits with him. Often, the ex-army doctor asked for her opinion, and every time she gave one out, Sherlock rolled his eyes.
"Too blue."
He rolled his eyes.
"No, too Victorian."
He rolled his eyes.
"Too James Bond."
He sighed and rolled his eyes.
"I like this one," John exclaimed, straightening out the creases in the fabric. It was black with a blue tie and silver cuff links.
"I don't see why we need matching suits," interrupted Sherlock, stretching his arms out and inspecting the wrists of the jacket.
"It's tradition," John told him. "And I don't want you turning up in any old thing."
"Do I have to wear the tie?"
"Yes, Sherlock, you do."
John went to get some assistance so that they could both get measured up and have the suits tailored to fit better. Sherlock kept checking himself in the mirror, frowning, then nodding, then sighing, then frowning again.
All this for a bloody suit.
"Relax," sighed Amy. Leaving the stool she had been sat on, she prowled forward. "You only have to wear it for one day, Come here." She did up the buttons of the jacket, smiling angelically. "It looks good on you."
"What do you think, John?" she crowed when he returned with a smartly dressed lady. "He looks great, right?"
"Yes," he agreed, but Sherlock wasn't bothered. It was just a suit. It wasn't too bad. It was better than all of the others he had tried on, and like Amy said, he only had to wear it for one day. He was doing this for John, because he was his friend and it was what friends did. He didn't mind wearing a fancy suit when it came to John. Sherlock knew better than anyone that John deserved appreciation and respect and happiness. This was his way of being there for John, showing him his appreciation, support. And if having him dressed in a suit he wouldn't normally wear made John happy then so be it. Weddings weren't really his thing, he couldn't see the point of them personally. Since re-uniting with John, he had admittedly become more human more aware of his own emotions, but he still chose to ignore them when he was working; and some still baffled him as they had before, mainly love. Some would say he loved John, and perhaps he did - his admiration for the man, the respect and loyalty and trust he shared with John could be described as love. Friendship. But that was the kind of love he understood and actually believed in. The romantic kind, though...
Except, he understood a little why John loved Mary the way he did. When Sherlock had been 'dead', Mary had been a support for him, a console, a rock, hard as ever, keeping him upright. In time, John came to accept that Sherlock was 'gone'. Without her, he would surely have lost it. She had helped ease the pain of 'losing' Sherlock and in turn her had supported her just as much in everything, made her laugh with his terrible jokes, intrigued her with his stories of Sherlock, kept his promises. It had been Sherlock's 'death' that had brought them together, and Sherlock sort of understood what Mary meant to his friend, and why he needed her so much. Sherlock understood why this wedding was important.
And he couldn't deny that it was an honour to be John's best man. And he knew that he owed it to him after everything.
"I need to take some measurements to ensure that the suits are a perfect fit," said the woman, pushing past Amy gently. "It wont take too long."
Stepping back, Amy watched for a while, but had to stand outside for some air. It all reminded her too much of her own wedding. She imagined she would have been fine with this. Clearly she wasn't.
As the cool breeze swept past her face, her hair danced. She remembered Rory on their big day. Oh, he had looked so handsome that day dressed in his smart grey suit. He had looked so dashing that she had been completely speechless when she met him at the altar. She recalled how excited he had been the day he had finally bought the suit, he hadn't stopped smiling and telling Amy how much she was 'going to love it'. The memory made her smile, however, it was a smile laced with sadness.
It was my decision to end it. I can't go back now. I need to keep moving forward, as my Aunt Sharon always said.
She shook off her thoughts when Sherlock and John found her.
"Everything alright?" John asked, zipping up his coat.
She moved away from the wall, arms tight around her chest. "I'm getting a headache. I think maybe I slept too much earlier." At first, she assumed she was lying, but she realized that actually she did have a headache coming on. "I'll be fine in a bit."
John nodded. Looking between Amy and Sherlock, he smiled. "Right, thanks for coming anyway-"
"-pleasure," commented Sherlock.
"-no problem," said Amy.
"-that's one less thing to worry about. I shall head off. I promised Mary a night out. Oh, Amy, you're very welcome to come to the wedding."
With a nod, she smiled. "Thanks." Right now, though, she wanted to get her mind off weddings.