Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock or Doctor Who. Thank ACD and Mofftiss. I don't have anything to do with the BBC (I wish I did). This story is purely for entertainment.
Staying sober had not been on Amy's agenda and the next day her head weighed like a sack of rocks. It was virtually impossible to lift it from her pillow. It had sagged during the night because she had been laying on it so much.
Sherlock nursed her with black coffee and then left. Once the coffee was inside her she felt a little better, except for the disgusting taste in her mouth. She got dressed, tried to find her mobile, and left her bedroom when she gave up searching.
Her memory was hazy. She could remember showing up at the party with an unenthusiastic Sherlock, ordering the first few drinks, and joking with Lestrade for a while. The rest after that wasn't so clear.
"What happened last night?" she quizzed Sherlock as she slumped onto the sofa with a hangover. The action soon made her head spin.
"Not much," he answered, not taking his eyes away from his book.
"What is 'not a lot'?"
"You danced with Lestrade, forced me to wear a police hat, hit Anderson and vomited for most of this morning."
"Oh, God..." She rubbed her hands down her face. "Why did I hit Anderson?"
"He called you, and I quote, 'a jam tart on legs'. No doubt it was the alcohol speaking. Still, it was the highlight of the night, you hitting him. I am rather pleased that I went now."
"See, I told you that you would have fun."
"Yes." A hint of a smirk wiped across his mouth. Anything that involved humiliating Anderson was always worth seeing.
"Oh, God, I don't think he will be pleased to see me again."
"I don't think he will even remember, which is a mighty shame."
She hummed, feeling herself sitting on something hard. She pulled out a phone from underneath her. "Ah, there's my phone." On the screen it read:
1 message
She read the text.
Thanks for a great night. - GL
Her brows knitted together. "Did you give Greg my number?"
"Who?" Sherlock paused. "Oh, Lestrade? No, you did."
"I don't remember..."
"You wouldn't."
There was another message from Greg, sent a few minutes after the first one.
Thought you might like this. - GL
A photo had been attached. She opened the file and a photo of her and Greg taking a selfie with Sherlock wearing the police hat flashed up on the screen. Sherlock didn't look that happy in the photo, it was obvious he was faking a smile, his eyes looked bored, his posture uncomfortable. Meanwhile, Amy and Greg looked completely out of it; Greg with his aviators on a tie around his head, doing an 'OMG' expression; Amy trying to look sexy by pouting when really she looked like she was high on drugs. Oh dear, that's embarrassing. "Oh, there's the police hat," she mumbled, her lips flickering into a small smirk.
Sherlock sighed. "He's already sending those ridiculous photos around. How wonderful." He moved from the chair, tossing the book onto the floor. "This came for you." At the fireplace he collected an envelope.
Seeing it, Amy eased up and leaned forward to take it from him when he reached out to her. Their fingers brushed ever so slightly as she clumsily took it from him, but neither of them noticed so much.
Written on the envelope was her name in neat cursive. She sat back down to open it. She unfolded the paper and read:
Meet me by Hyde Park
Tomorrow
2pm
M.