((So, here I am again. With a new chapter. With several new chapters. As a late Christmas present to you all I will be posting three new chapters today because it's been a few weeks since the last one and I am so pleased that you are all sticking with the story.

I've been writing this story for almost a year and I am now currently onto the 28th chapter! Still going.

I've been to the screening of 'The Empty Hearse' and ohmygod it was great. Now that I know what happens, the direction of this story will change slightly... BUT DON'T WORRY THERE WILL BE NO SPOILERS FROM ME and if there are, they will be in future chapters that I will post once everyone has seen the new episodes.

Finally, this chapter wasn't originally like this. However, while my friend was reading through this story she gave me some really cool suggestions and this was one of them, so all credit goes to her for this idea! It came up when I started talking about my visit to the V&A. I'm not sure how it will go down with people, but I love it anyway.

Enjoy. ))

The traffic was agonizingly slow, again... There had been an accident somewhere, therefore the cab had to take them home the long way round. Cromwell Road was packed with cars and vans and buses and bikers on their way home from work. It was just gone half-past five. The sky was beginning to become a blaze of fire.

"Do you think it is wise to drink that?" Sherlock glanced at the energy drink Amy clutched in her right hand."If you intend to sleep later."

"I don't," Amy replied instantly. "I still have things to do."

"Your research?"

With wide eyes, she turned to him, then she frowned. "Have you been snooping?"

"I wouldn't call it snoo-"

"Sherlock!"

"You shouldn't leave your laptop logged on. Anyone could gain access to all sorts of information that you want to keep private. I had a look yesterday at what you had been searching. Shapeshifting. It's all very interesting but it's all completely nonsence, why would you be searching shapeshifting?"

"You wouldn't understand," she muttered as she gazed out of the window. They moved along the road at a snail's pace, coming up alongside the Victoria and Albert Museum. Amy had never seen it before. To her, it looked like a palace, grand and majestic among the many shops.

"Then enlighten me," added the detective. Amy could sense his eyes on her. "You still have your theory to explain."

"Ye- Wait!"

As the cab started picking up a bit more speed, she spied something outside of the massive Victorian building. Blue and wooden, prominently stood on the pavement, sticking out like a sore thumb. Something very, very important to her; something she had been hoping to see for a while. Everyone was walking past it like it was nothing special and to her it meant everything.

He's come back for me...

"Wait-wait-wait! Stop the cab!" she demanded, much to the confusion of the cabbie and Sherlock. "STOP!"

As the vehicle halted she shoved the drinks can into Sherlock's hand, who was asking questions, and she rushed out of the taxi at lightning speed. There it was, the TARDIS, bright and blue and ancient, as magnificent as it ever was. Amy was soon over to it, trying to push open the door. It was locked. "Doctor?!" she called, proceeding to bang on the door. Amy, it's locked, he's probably not in there.

"What are you doing?" Sherlock lurked behind her with a puzzled expression (a rarity for him). He made her jump. "You're shouting for a doctor..."

"Er, yeah. Yes I am." She awkwardly shifted on the spot, scratching the side of her neck, avoiding his eyes.

"You're shouting for a doctor at a police box."

"Yes." Oh, God, this is humiliating. She stumbled on her words. "My friend... he's... erm..."

"There is no-one in there, Amy. It's part of an exhibition." Sure enough, there were banners streaming down one side of the museum advertising a 1950's exhibition. People stoped, stared, laughed.

"I-"

Sighing, Sherlock pulled her back into the cab, trying to work out why she had suddenly become excited over a 1950's telephone box. Who is this woman? What could a police box possibly mean to her? Perhaps it was time for him to start doing some digging on his flat mate. She intrugued him and he wasn't entirely sure why.

She suddenly felt incredibly stupid. Embarressed, too. What did Sherlock and the public think of her? I've made a fool of myself. She knew what she would think of herself. A mad woman. Trying to convince herself it was an easy mistake to make in her situation was no good.

"What's wrong with you, love? You got a screw loose or somefin'?" said the cabbie, and her cheeks went red with chagrin.

Back at the flat Amy was quiet. She went straight to her room to avoid any kind of remark Sherlock would make, because there was no doubt in her mind that he would. It wasn't until there was a knock on her door that she rose from her bed, feeling as deflated as a burst balloon. The hope had been snatched away from her.

From the door appeared Sherlock. However, he didn't make any comment, anything to suggest that she was stupid, or mental. Instead, he placed a cup down on her bedside.

"What's this?"

"A cup of tea." His brow furrowed. "Don't you want it?"

"Sorry. Thanks." She forced a smile. Her talking mood had escaped her.

"Your friend owned a police box." It was a statement he posed to her, not a question.

She stared at him as she fiddled with her fingers. "Yeah."

"And he was interested in the 1950's?"

"No... Well, he could have been, I suppose." The Doctor does love all things history. "But no. It's something he has to remember where he's from..." Partly true, Amy, although let's remember it is so much more than just that.

"Ah, sentiment," he muttered, nodding. Of course, it would be that.

"It's much more than just sentiment," she said sharply. "It's much more than just a police box."
He gestured for her to explain.

"It's a magical box that can travel through time and space."

He registered that, then he laughed. And she laughed with him. She knew he wouldn't believe her, so she went along with it, pretending that it was a joke just to lighten her mood.

"So that's why it was outside the museum. It 'magically' appeared there," he giggled.

"Something like that..." Her smile faded and she diverted her gaze away from him. If only he knew how true it really was.

"I made a real spectacle of myself, I'm sorry. I miss him, is all." She shrugged her shoulders.

Stuffing his hands in his pockets, he cleared his throat. "What was your theory?"

"Huh?" She had almost forgotten about that. "Oh, it doesn't matter." He didn't believe me about the police box being a time machine, there is no chance in hell that he will believe me about the alien.

"Are you sure? It could be relevant. I have to admit that I am struggling to, er, work out what is going on."

"Blimey, don't let people hear you say that out loud. What would they think of you?" A chuckled left her lips and she saw him smile a little.

"What would they think indeed?" he said quietly.

"No, honestly, it doesn't matter." She shook her head. "I thought it might have been shapeshifting but, well, that doesn't exist so..."

They laughed again. He thought she was joking. She tried to convince herself she was, too.

"No, all that shapeshifting research was for a...er... book I want to write. Not that I'm going to get anywhere with it, anyway..." As if she would be able to write a book! Ha!

"Oh..." Once again, he nodded.

"I did think about suggesting that a shapeshifter had taken the form of Joe Vidal and the woman who attacked you in order to get back what my friend took without looking conspicuous but somehow I don't think the police would believe that," she chuckled nervously.

"The police are idiots. They believe anything." He inhaled deeply and made for the door. "Enjoy the tea." He left.

She's definitely lying about something, he thought as he left her room. Mrs Hudson passed him as he closed Amy's door, carrying shopping bags.

"Amy's been in there a while," the landlady said when Sherlock followed behind her. "Is she alright?"

"She's fine." He stalked into the living room and sat in his chair to think.

"I hope you haven't upset her, Sherlock."

"I haven't upset her." She sounds like my mum.

"Amy doesn't deserve to be treated the way you treat some people -"

"- I haven't upset her-"

"- I don't understand you men, I really don't. My son was the same. He always unintentionally upset the girls he liked -"

"- I don't like Amy -"

Not in the way Mrs Hudson was implying.