Hello! First venture in Sherlock, so don't hurt me if it turned out horribly! I've just been getting more and more obsessed with this pairing as time passes and plot bunnies were attacking my brain :P

This idea was going to be a oneshot, than a series of unrelated drabbles, but now I'm kinda leaning towards a full out story. So... Subscribe it up!(: Also, send in a review and I will give you a sneak peek to the next chapter.

So, this starts out with Amelia as 8 years old and Sherlock as 14. Enjoy!

"Fine," a girl's voice huffed from outside, but the older boy could hear her Scottish accent loud and clear, "If you don't want to play anymore, then I'll just find someone else!"

"No one else is going to play with you!" a little English boy returned, "They're only going to laugh at you again. Can't we just play something else? We always play 'Raggedy Doctor.'"

Sherlock Holmes listened from the inside of the house, fans going and fingers at the corner of a page in his Chemistry book. He didn't know how he had gotten himself into this. Well, he knew how he found himself spending the summer in Leadworth, but how had he become a babysitter? Sherlock immediately blamed Mycroft and his mother for volunteering him. Mother had started socializing with a woman named Sharon, who apparently had a disobedient niece that needed taking care of when she was away from home. Which was all the time. It was Sherlock's fourth day on the job, and it was all rather dull. He spent the first day observing, learning every little detail about everyone that entered that house. But it was more difficult than he thought it'd be. Some things didn't make sense to him, especially the little girl, Amelia Pond. She made absolutely no sense to Sherlock at all. She believed there were such things as aliens, yet she thought with almost as much logic and reason as Sherlock. He could tell that she really took that space stuff seriously. She really believed it.

"Sherly!" Amelia called, stepping into the door from the backyard where a big garden lay. That was where she usually played her games with a boy named Rory Williams, the one whining outside. He quite annoyed Sherlock, always acting afraid of him. Not to mention, he wasn't that smart. Amelia and her other friend, Mels, had abandoned him while playing hide-and-go-seek twice since Sherlock started babysitting, but he always believed them when they said it was an accident. He was gullible. Mels had only been over twice before, but from what Sherlock saw of her, he was a little worried. She acted older than her age and knew things that even Sherlock hadn't reached. There were also some psychopathic tendencies that he was seeing in her, so when she was around, the babysitter kept a good eye out. It was more for interest and curiosity than the safety of the child left in his charge, though.

"Yes, Amelia?" Sherlock sighed, rolling his eyes at the nickname. Mycroft had mentioned it in front of the eight year old once and she had never let it go.

"Would you come play 'Raggedy Doctor' with me?"

Sherlock wasn't sure of what this game consisted of doing. He knew that there was a costume involved because of Rory's loud complaints every time Amelia had him suited up. He also knew that she wasn't allowed to play it in front of her aunt Sharon. She wasn't supposed to mention the Raggedy Doctor in front of the woman at all. Apparently, Sharon was worried for Amelia's mental state and was sending her to psychiatrists. Sherlock remembered his first day when he had been told of Amelia's biting habits and how that had brought the end to two psychiatrists. "No."

Amelia stepped closer to him, sugar-coating her voice, "Please, Sherlock?"

"Um… No," he repeated, not even lifting his eyes from the page. The idea of playing with someone 6 years younger than Sherlock was preposterous, even if it were someone like Amelia, who at least tried to keep up with him in conversation. He didn't even want to think of Mycroft's face if he ever saw them. Which he probably would.

Amelia frowned angrily before ripping the book out of his hands, running to the other side of the room. "Come with me or the book gets it."

"Amelia!" Sherlock cried, rising up from the couch, "Give me the book! Now!"

"Um… No!"

"I'm in charge!"

"So?" Amelia shrugged, "A lot of people have been put in charge of me. What makes you think I listened to them?" That was another part that confused Sherlock. Amelia was always getting into trouble. She was a good girl when she wanted to be, but he could tell she didn't like being controlled. She didn't like being ordered around like the child she really was.

"I'm not playing around, Amelia."

"I know! That's the point! Please, Sherly!" she begged, slouching her shoulders and sticking out her lips in a pout, "Or I'll tell Aunt Sharon about the dead rat in that plastic bag in the back of the freezer."

"It's an experiment!" Sherlock argued.

"It's weird," Amelia corrected. The little girl stared into the older boy's eyes, green meeting blue. It was a really pretty blue, she noted. Her favorite color was blue, though a different shade. A darker, more specific shade. Still, his was nice too. Sherlock's skin was pale and smooth-looking, mostly due to his lack of exposure to the outside world, unlike Amy whose skin was colored with light freckles. She tossed her red hair back, not looking away, ready to win that staring competition.

Sherlock didn't budge for a while, and she could tell he was as in it to win it as she was. But after a few minutes of silence, he exhaled, a little irritated and walked past her, opened the door, and made his way into the garden. "Are we doing this or not?" he asked, irritably, "I'm giving you an hour."

"Two hours!"

"I wouldn't push it if I were you, Miss Pond."

Amelia grinned to herself and hopped outside, feeling the warm summer breeze rustle her skin. How could Sherlock want to stay inside her big, empty house when there was all this outside? "Rory, give Sherlock the costume," Amelia ordered, "He's going to play the Raggedy Doctor today."

"What?" Rory whimpered, looking at the boy with curly black hair nervously, "He's playing?"

"Yup," she replied, popping the "p" like she always did, "So, hand over the tie."

"But I always play the Raggedy Doctor!"

"You were just whining about how you were tired of playing him," Amelia pointed out, "You can be Prisoner Zero today."

"Who the blazes is Prisoner Zero?" Sherlock turned to Amelia, confused, and held up his costume, "And why do I have to wear this ripped up shirt?"

"Because," she replied, simply, "You get to play the Raggedy Doctor. You come for me with your time machine and we try to stop Prisoner Zero from taking over the world together. And then you'll take me in your blue ship and we'll go have adventures on all the stars!" Sherlock sighed. What had he gotten himself into?


"Your aunt's going to be home soon," Sherlock said, back in the comfortable spot on his couch, book in hand. Amelia sat on the love seat adjacent to him, scribbling away on paper while the telly played. "You should get to bed."

"She doesn't get home until really late," Amelia replied, continuing her drawing, "She's too busy hanging out with that man friend of hers."

"How do you know she's hanging out with a man?"

"Who else would she be with so late?" Amelia returned, "Not to mention, she takes hours to get ready."

Sherlock smiled softly. This girl noticed more than he thought she did. She was actually quite smart for her age, not like Mels though. Mels was freaky smart. Like Sherlock, except he had a feeling there was a weirder reason than his, which was really just boredom and lack of anyone to keep good conversation with. Even back home in London, Sherlock Holmes was a friendless 14 year old. Usually during the summers, he'd just play with his chemistry set, but Mother had insisted that a good, quiet summer in a small country town would be much nicer than one in the bustling city. She called Leadworth relaxing, but the only word her youngest son could use to describe the place was dull. "Still," he went on, trying to be the responsible babysitter they both knew he wasn't, "It's late. And humans, especially children, need a regular eight hours of sleep every night."

"You're a child, too."

"Hardly." Sherlock looked up from his book and saw Amelia staring at him. She didn't look away when he caught her eye. "Go on upstairs and get ready for bed."

Her eyes widened. Was that fear Sherlock was detecting? Of course it was. He was hardly ever wrong upon first observation. But why was she scared? She didn't seriously believe in there being monsters under her bed. "Can I just sleep down here, Sherly?"


Amelia didn't know how to tell Sherlock. She knew that the crack that had once been on her bedroom wall a year before was closed, but she didn't forget the Doctor's words nor what the voice had said on the other side.. Prisoner Zero has escaped. And she knew what the Doctor was getting at. It had escaped through her bedroom. Ever since, she felt a little watched, but whenever she turned around, there was absolutely no one there. "I just want to," she answered, not coming up with a clever answer. She didn't want Sherlock thinking she was afraid of the dark or anything. Because she wasn't. Amelia Pond was a brave little girl. The Doctor had told her so. The only thing the Scottish girl was afraid of was that crack and whatever it had done or brought into her life.

Sherlock didn't answer her at first, wondering what could possibly hurt. If her aunt came home, he could just say she passed out while watching the TV. Still, the Amelia had won more than one fight that day, and he didn't want her forgetting that he was the authority figure. He didn't remember changing his mind for someone so much as he had for Amelia in the past week. Maybe it was just because she fought him as hard as he fought her. It got pretty exhausting sometimes. "Just this once," he relented, "But you're not doing it the next time I babysit you." They both knew there would be a next time. There was still a month and a half of summer left and Sharon probably stayed home twice out of the seven days of the week. And for some reason, Sherlock was the first person that woman called to watch her niece.

He could feel Amelia's triumphant grin as she rushed upstairs to get changed and brush her teeth, coming back down with a blanket and pillow in hand. The two continued to sit in silence, the only noise coming from the turning of a page, the cartoon on the telly that both had already tuned out, and the scraping of colored pencil against paper. "Why are you reading that Chemistry book? It must be boring." Another thing Sherlock had learned about Amelia was that she didn't really like silence.

"Why are you drawing the same thing you always draw?" Sherlock retorted. Even though he hadn't even seen what the little girl was drawing, he was sure he could guess exactly what it was. It was the same as the pictures that were taped up on her bedroom walls, the same as the picture she'd drawn every night he came over. It was always something related to the Doctor, little cartoons of him and her fighting aliens and going around in a blue time machine. Sherlock recognized it as a police phone box used in the early '60s that he had seen in a book once before.

"There's nothing else interesting to draw," she sniffed, not even having to admit that Sherlock was right. She knew he knew he was right. Amelia had ceased to be shocked over his weird capabilities to read people like open books. All it gave him was a bigger ego and her a bigger headache of a babysitter.

"There's nothing else interesting to read."

"That's not true! Chemistry is boring."

"How would you know?" Sherlock snorted, "You're only eight years old. You probably don't even know who Albert Einstein is yet."

"Yeah, he's that weird guy with the funny hair. Sort of like you, Sherly," Amelia teased, sticking out a tongue.

"Ha ha. Very funny," he replied sarcastically, subconsciously taking a dark curl in one of his pale hands.

"Will you read it to me?"

"I thought you said it was boring."

"Yeah, and I'm going to prove it to you when I fall asleep after the first sentence."

"You won't understand any of it," said Sherlock.

"Says you," Amelia retorted.

With a heavy sigh, the teenage boy began reading about moles and empirical formulas, about chemical and physical compounds, while Amy ripped a new paper from her pad and began another drawing. At first, it made Sherlock want to stop reading seeing as she wasn't paying a single piece of attention, but then she would start to ask questions as he read that were quite relevant to the material he was talking about.

"Why do we need to know this stuff, anyways?" Amelia asked with a yawn as she put her colored pencils back in their case and laid the pictures down on the coffee table by her head, then snuggling deeper into the cushions of the loveseat.

"You think it'd be better if we just walked around without knowing our surroundings?" Sherlock replied, but his tone was more amused than harsh, which is what it would have been had anyone else asked him such an ignorant question. "Some of this helps solve crimes, too. That's what I'm going to do, someday."

"So, you'll join the police?" Amelia smiled, imagining the lean boy driving around in cop cars and shoving a badge in everyone's face, "Like a detective?"

"No, that involves relying on other people," Sherlock explained, "Besides, considering the amount of unsolved cases we have now, I'm assuming the police force is filled with complete idiots. I'll be more independent, I suppose. And they'll come to me for help."

"So…" Amelia guessed again, voice slow as she tried to think of a name for whatever Sherlock dreamed of being, "Like… A consulting detective?"

Sherlock smiled, though Amelia couldn't see it. He liked the term she used. Consulting detective. It sounded nice. It had a nice professional ring to it that said exactly what it meant. "Yes, exactly, Amelia," he agreed, "While you're off having adventures in the stars with your Doctor, I'll be becoming England's first and only consulting detective."

"Don't forget the best," Amelia added with a laugh, knowing she'd probably regret the compliment in a few seconds. To her surprise, her babysitter said nothing, laughing shortly before turning the page and reading the next chapter. It wasn't long before he could hear her breathing slow and he knew that his words of formulas and elements had finally lulled the little redhead to sleep. It wasn't long before Sharon showed up, cheeks flushed at sweet words probably still replaying in her head and her body reeking of a mixture between her fruity perfume and a man's musky cologne. Amelia was undoubtedly right about her aunt's whereabouts.

"Good evening, Sherlock," the woman smiled, "I hope she behaved well."

"She was great," he replied, feeling echoes of the smile that had once been. He hadn't ever really smiled before, not a smile that felt this nice and didn't feel so fake as his other ones.

"Good. You know how she can be," Sharon went on as Sherlock stood up from the couch and marked his place with a book. He passed by the loveseat, something catching his eye. It was her second drawing. And it was him. He picked it up to further inspect it. The figure with black curls was sitting on a couch, mouth wide open with a book in hands. Next to him was a little girl with red hair, eyes closed with little "Z"s coming out of her mouth. "Amelia is really something else, sometimes."

The smile returned on Sherlock's face as he folded up the drawing into neat rectangles before making a decent size bookmark. "Yes, she really is, isn't she?"

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