Word Count: 4475
Disclaimer: Not mine, never will be.
Timeline: This chapter takes place during The Wedding of River Song. It might not make sense if you don't realize that.
"We are an impossibility in an impossible universe." - Ray Bradbury
Amy wakes up one morning with the strangest realisation: time's gone wrong.
But the oddest part is that she still remembers her life, this life in this universe. She remembers growing up in a park full of pterodactyls, riding in cars that float through the sky, living her life as if that's all normal. Thing is, it's not normal. She remembers all of it, but it doesn't feel real, ya know? It feels distant and strange and wrong. And there's only one reason she can think of – time has gone wrong.
It's the most ridiculously stupid thing she could ever say, she knows, but it's the only thing that makes any sense. Okay, yeah, she knows she's never exactly been the best at history, but this – this mad world she's living in – it isn't right. Churchill isn't supposed to be Caesar of the Holy Roman Empire. Charles Dickens isn't supposed to be on the morning telly. Roads aren't supposed to be made up of roller coasters and hot air balloons. It's all she's ever known, but suddenly it doesn't make any stupid sense and no one beside her can see it!
Well, except Sherlock.
Thing is, even he didn't believe her at the start. And really, that doesn't surprise her. Sherlock's Mr Logical, super scientific, and all those other things everyone calls him. And it's not like she doesn't realise everything she says sounds absolutely mad, because she does, but she still believes every word of it. And she thinks that maybe that's what gets through to him in the end – her belief.
Out of everyone in this entire planet, Sherlock knows her the best, and he knows that she doesn't put her faith in things lightly. When she believes something, she genuinely believes it and he knows that. (It's something they have in common, after all.) The only other explanation he could possibly come up with is that she's gone mad, but they both know that's not true.
Once you've eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth. And the truth is that time's gone wrong.
So they set to work immediately. They do as best as they can with what little they have, because time is broken and they have to fix it.
They never tell John or Mary about it. She loves them – really she does, they're some of her best mates – but they would never believe her. They would just think she's gone mental and secretly try to 'fix' her or some rubbish. They wouldn't listen to anyone, not even Sherlock, if they said time's gone wrong. And she wouldn't blame them either, because she knows it sounds mad, but she knows it's the truth and she knows that they would only get in her way, so she never tells them.
Amy has no idea how long she and Sherlock work for, collecting books and artefacts that shouldn't coexist. Gathering every little stupid clue they can. It isn't exactly easy keeping track of time when everything is all kinds of wibby-wobbly and timey-wimey, ya know? You can't trust a thing. Just because it feels like an hour doesn't mean it can't be a minute or even a whole day. It's actually pretty bloody annoying when you really start to think about it.
The worst part is that all while they search, she keeps getting this nagging feeling that something isn't right. Besides the whole time gone wrong thing, that is. Sometimes something just tells her that she's doing something wrong, that all this research isn't right. It's like there's this great big thing in her head that's gone missing, but she just can figure out what. She doesn't know how just knows, but she just does, alright?
She mentions it to Sherlock once, but he won't hear it. Tell him that time's gone wrong and needs fixing, and he's interested. He'll put everything he can into figuring out why the universe doesn't make sense. But tell him that his methods are wrong and he won't have it. Stupid bloody idiot. He's probably the maddest, most stubborn person to have ever existed. And that's coming from Amy Pond.
Still, she listens to him. Solving things and putting puzzles together, well, that's sort of his thing, ya know? It's his speciality and she trusts him. Honestly, she does. Despite anything anyone's ever told her and, really, despite him, she trusts him. In this mad, messed up universe that makes no sense, he's the only thing she does trust.
Everything changes one day when she goes to the bookstore. It's a normal day – April 22nd at 5:02pm – just like any other day has been. But the bookstore part isn't strange or out of her normal routine; it isn't the part that changes anything. No, she's gone there plenty of times – collecting old books is actually pretty important to this case. What's different this time is the journal she finds in the middle of the stacks. It's small and blue and looks a bit like a police box.
The thought stops her in her tracks. A police box? There are no 'police boxes.' There never have been.
Curiosity gets the best of her and Amy flips the book open. Most of the pages are filled with notes, little stories or quotes, each one as bizarre as the next. They don't make any sense at all. All it does is talk about time and space and aliens and all these things that are not a part of this universe. But the strangest part of it is that they somehow do make sense. And in the middle of the book is one date scratched into the corner of the page.
April 22nd, 2011.
The day the Doctor dies.
And then, suddenly, Amy remembers everything.
She comes home with two or three new books and puts them on the dining table where Sherlock insists on doing all his stupid experiments. He doesn't move from his microscope or even react in the slightest, but she knows he sees her. He's just too lost in his work too waste energy on some meaningless comment. He's always been like that; as far back as she can remem–
Never mind. She supposes those memories aren't actually real, now are they? She doesn't actually know him – she never has. In all honesty, he's just some man she collided with when time went wrong. That's all. Nothing else.
Except a part of her knows that isn't true. Not when she stands there beside him, watching him work on their case. It all feels so familiar – the stupid curls in his hair, the ridiculous suits he always wears, the complete focus on his work. And she hates it. Really, truly hates it all. Because, you see, in this fake universe – in this life that makes absolutely no sense – he did. He's the only thing that has ever made any sense to her. He's the only thing that actually felt real. That feels real…
But it isn't real. They aren't real. All of these memories, these things she thinks are so precious, aren't really her memories. They're just some sort of bloody side effect of all the timey-wimey…ness. It's just some temporary life she's fallen into. It isn't her actual life. Her actual life is in Leadworth with Rory, it's in the TARDIS with the Doctor. It's all of time and space and mad adventures, not murders and mysteries and detective cases. She doesn't actually belong here, okay? It isn't real.
But it feels real.
"Are you planning on staring all day?" Sherlock asks without breaking his gaze.
"And if I am?" she shoots back before she can stop herself. The words just roll off her tongue instinctively. An amused smirk tugs at his lips and he adjusts his microscope. A smile almost comes to her, but she stops it. Mentally, she shakes her head. She needs to stop. She needs to get out of here.
She considers telling him that she's going for a walk, that she needs some fresh air, but she tosses the idea immediately. She knows he'll suspect something right away and follow her and that can't happen. She has to do the opposite. She needs to stay in his range. Make him think he knows exactly where she is and what she's doing, ya know?
"Oi, Sherlock," she says instead, "I think I'm going to lay down for a bit."
She turns to leave, but before she can even take a step, she feels his hand grab her arm. She looks back to see Sherlock staring at her with an odd expression. "Are you alright?" he asks.
"Yeah, just a bit tired, that's all," she explains. The look on his face clearly tells her he doesn't buy a single word. She rolls her eyes but smiles. "Really," she takes a step forward and closes the distance between them. "I mean it." And just to prove her point, she leans down and kisses him. It's a soft kiss and a quick one. Her lips don't linger any longer than they normally would and when she pulls back, she gives him a playful grin. "See? Fine. Now either go back to your science stuff or come to bed," she says. Not that there's any doubt which he will choose.
Sure enough, Sherlock smirks but lets her arm go and turns back to his microscope. Amy wrinkles her nose and tells him he's no fun, but grins and turns towards their bedroom. But the moment the door shuts, she leans against it, closes her eyes and takes a deep breath as her smile disappears.
It doesn't take Sherlock long to come in and spy on her. She's lying in bed with her eyes shut and her back to the door when he peers in. He doesn't linger for too long though – only a moment or two – just long enough to make sure it's actually her and that she hasn't somehow tricked him and run off or something like that. Once he's sure, he closes the door and leaves her alone. Amy waits until his footsteps fade away and she's sure he's back to his work.
She rolls her eyes as she sits up. For such a genius, Sherlock can be so bloody predictable sometimes. Does he really think she doesn't know him or what he'll do? After all this time? Moron. Still, a smile tugs on her lips.
It doesn't last very long. She doesn't let her stupid emotions take control. She can't let them take control. Now isn't the time for tears or second thoughts. She has a universe to fix, after all. She needs to get out of here. She needs to find the others. She only came back to throw Sherlock off. If she had never come home, he would have suspected something and it would have only caused problems.
Amy shakes her head and tosses the blankets off. She opens the dresser drawer and pulls out her letter. She folds it into thirds and puts it back on the dresser, and stands up. She opens the bedroom window, but stops just short of climbing out when her eyes land on her left hand, on the ring on her third finger. Her stupid wedding ring, the one she insisted they buy.
"No. Shut up. Stop it, Amy," she hisses. "This isn't real. He isn't actually your husband," she tells herself as she pulls it off.
Still, she feels something the moment it leaves her finger. It's like there's something that's gone missing and it doesn't seem right, letting it all go like this. Letting the only thing that mattered in this universe drop from her fingers so easily. Letting the only person that mattered go. But she shakes the feeling off and leaves the wedding ring on her dresser beside her letter. There's nothing to let go, she reminds herself, because this isn't real.
Besides, she tells herself, this is Sherlock they're talking about. He'll be fine, just like he always has been. He'll be angry but he will survive without her. Besides, if everything goes according to plan, when she fixes time, he won't have any idea who she is. He won't remember any of this mess. He won't remember them. They'll have never met and she'll have never left him. He'll never have felt the pain she's about to cause.
He'll be fine.
Amy jumps out their window and lands on the cement floor. She'll feel that in the morning, she knows, but for now she ignores it. Instead, she turns and runs. She runs as far and as fast as she bloody can. Away from this fake life of hers, away from the pain, and away from him.
Sherlock, I remember everything. Time's gone wrong and I have to fix it. I'm sorry. – Amelia
She finds River first. As soon as she does, they start building the Order against the Silence. They capture Madame Kovarian, make copies of her eye-patch, capture and trap dozens of Silence. They build their headquarters in a pyramid and River's device to contact the universe. But she doesn't find the Doctor. Or Rory.
Every now and then she thinks the memories are slipping from her mind. That maybe she really has gone mad and this is actually how the universe is supposed to be. She doesn't let those moments last. Instead, she does anything she can to remember. She draws little things, writes down the stories, so that she can remember her life. She paints the Daleks, draws herself as a pirate, and makes a model TARDIS. She does everything in her bloody power to hold onto the memories – her journeys with the Doctor, her adventures with River, her marriage to Rory…
Sometimes it scares her that she can't remember him. Rory – her Rory. Because no matter how much she tries, no matter how many drawings she draws, she can never remember his stupid face. She remembers that she's known him her whole life, that he's her husband, and that she loves him very much. But every time she tries to draw him, every time she tries to picture his face…
He's blabbering on and on about something or other she doesn't really care about. She thinks it has something to do with the case they just closed, but she can't be bothered to find out. She's tired and has a headache the size of his bloody ego, and his yapping isn't helping. She considers telling him to stuff it, but knowing her luck, that would only make him talk more. Arse.
So instead she does the only thing she knows will shut him up – she grabs him by the arm and pulls him to her, wraps her arms around his neck, and kisses him.
A smug grin dances at her lips the moment she pulls back. It doesn't matter how many times she's pulled that trick on him, the look on her moron's face never gets old. For such a genius he's always seems so stupidly baffled whenever she kisses him like that.
Sherlock's brows crease when he fails to deduce her logic. "What was that for?"
Amy smirks, "For shutting up."
It just doesn't go according to plan, okay?
Sometimes she considers finding him – Sherlock – and making him a member of her Order. She never does, of course, but sometimes the thought makes her smile. The look on his face if he saw it all – the headquarters in Area 52, the containers filled with Silence, all of the space-wacey things he could have never imagined. Not to mention how ridiculous he would look with an eye-patch. God only knows how he'd take to that.
She thinks she'd impress him. All of the resources she's found, the information she's gathered, the army she's built up. It wasn't easy and she thinks he'd understand that more than anyone else. This mystery, this case – time going wrong – it's what they've spent however long trying to solve.
Amy's not a moron – she knows that she should recruit him. It's the logical thing to do, ya know? It's not about her personal reasons, but because he's Sherlock bloody Holmes. If she made this much progress without him, imagine what she could do if he were here. How much they could do together. But she also knows she can't do it. The memories in her head might be all sorts of jumbled, but she still knows he doesn't belong in this world. His life is murders and mysteries, not time and aliens. As much as he could help, this isn't him, and she won't drag him into this mess.
Amy has to fix time. She has to save the universe and everyone in it. Including Sherlock.
She doesn't have a lot of free time – it isn't exactly easy to relax and have fun when time is broken and you can't seem to find the only bloody moron who can fix it, ya know? But still, every now and then, she makes a little bit of time for herself. Time when she's not running the Order or tracking the Doctor or drawing pictures to keep her memory alive. Time when she can just take a moment to pause and have a bloody cigarette.
It's a rubbish habit, she knows. She remembers that in the other universe she'd quit when she younger because Rory hated it. But this is an entirely different universe and it's not like Rory's around, so she does it anyways. She climbs to the top of the pyramid, up every stupid step, up to where River has her spacey-wacey machine, and lights herself a cigarette.
She sits there, on the edge of the pyramid, looks up at the stars and thinks about her life – the old one (the real one), this one (the not real one), and all the others that could have happened. She wonders how many other Amelia Ponds are running around out there, how many Sherlock Holmes. She wonders if they ever meet. Or was it really just some sort of freak accident that they found each other in this one? In this impossible universe…
Sometimes when she climbs up, she almost expects him to be waiting up for her. For standing on top of this stupid pyramid like it's the roof of their flat. (After all, she said she would never find him – no one ever said that he couldn't come and find her.) Sometimes she imagines he's angry, sometimes he's annoyingly smug, sometimes he's too bloody preoccupied with River's machine to even pay any attention to her.
Sometimes Amy imagines that Sherlock finds her.
Sometimes she almost wishes he would.
He never does.
Captain Williams finds her on top of her pyramid, smoking and imagining, once. He comes up to tell her they're ready to deliver their report on the last Silence's attack, but his eyes watch her cigarette the entire time. Amy rolls her eyes and tosses him her carton. Moron. All he had to do was ask. It's not like she wouldn't have shared.
He catches it, but shakes his head and hands it back to her. "I don't smoke, ma'am. It's bad for your health."
Amy rolls her eyes, but pockets the carton. For a moment she wonders if he was some sort of doctor or something in the real universe. She can't even begin to count how many stupid times John gave her and Sherlock the same talk.
A frown tugs at her lips and she flicks a bit of ash off her cigarette. She watches it linger in the air for a moment before the wind carries it off. The words fall out of her mouth before she can even think to stop them. "Were you married, Captain Williams? Before all of this happened?"
He shakes his head. "No ma'am."
Amy pauses for a moment. "You're lucky then, ya know that right?"
She isn't looking at him, but she doesn't have to be to know that he's staring at her with a bit of a surprised look. She thinks it's the first time they've had an actual conversation, much less one so personal. Not that she has personal conversations with anyone on in their Order. And it's not even that she doesn't trust them, because she does. No, it's that she doesn't want to risk losing them when this is all said and done. Getting close to them, just to never see their faces or hear their voices again when they get home to the proper universe. She's not sure she could handle that right now, losing someone else, so she keeps her distance most of the time.
After a moment, Captain Williams asks, "Were you, ma'am?"
The answer dances on the tip of her tongue and she's just about to tell him everything –about her life here with Sherlock, about her marriage. About how she had to leave him because he's not her husband. Not really. Not in the universe that matters. About how she's married to a man named Rory who she remembers loving very much, but who she can't bloody find, no matter how hard she tries– but something stops her. She doesn't know what it is, but something tells her that she shouldn't have this conversation with him. That she can't have this conversation with him.
So, instead, she takes another drag of her cigarette and looks up at the sky. She watches all the burning lights and closes her eyes. For a moment she pretends that she's out there somewhere and that she isn't dealing with this mess. That she's happy with Rory and has never even heard of Sherlock Holmes.
But her moment doesn't last long and she exhales. She crushes her cigarette against the side of the pyramid and swings her legs back over the edge. She straightens her clothes and tells Captain Williams that they should go back inside now. They have a job to do, after all.
He watches her for a moment. "Ma'am," he says the moment her feet meet the first steps. "I know it's not my place, but smoking is bad for you."
Amy rolls her eyes, but a gentle smile tugs at her lips. "Priorities, Cap-tain. Let's get the universe sorted out first, and then I'll reconsider my bad habits, okay?"
He nods. "Yes ma'am."
He never called her Amy, not once. It's always been Amelia. Only ever Amelia, no matter how many times she insisted on Amy. At first she thinks that's why he did it – because she told him not to and he's an arse so he did the opposite. And while she's pretty sure that's part of it, she thinks she gets it now. You see, Amy's a normal name. She loves her name, but any girl walking down the street could be an Amy. But Amelia, well, that's a bit different, ya know? Amelia Pond – it's a unique name. One that's almost a match for a name like Sherlock Holmes.
It's absolutely stupid, she knows. But, then again, Sherlock's logic was never really like anyone else's logic.
Her fingers brush against her drawing of him and she smiles softly.
The door swings open and there stands a grinning River. Amy immediately slides a book over her picture, but not before the other woman can see it. River stares at her with a slight frown. "You miss him," she says. It isn't a question.
River rolls her eyes. "That man you sometimes draw. He was a part of your life here, wasn't he?"
Amy shakes her head. "That doesn't matter. This life isn't real."
"Do you love him?"
Her eyes widen and she stares at River as if she's just been accused of something absolutely mad. "I love Rory. Your father, remember?" she tells her. Still, River gives her this look and Amy frowns. She won't have this conversation. Especially not with her daughter. It isn't fair. "What was it you wanted anyways?" Amy asks instead. River's eyes light up and a mischievous grin pops up on her lips. And Amy knows whatever news she has to be good, otherwise her distraction would have never worked.
"We found him," River tells her.
"The Doctor?" Amy asks. She nods. Amy grins back.
Looks like it's finally time to fix time.
"God, I've missed you!" Amy laughs as she hugs her Doctor. And she means it. Really, truly, she does. The last time she was this happy was when she found River. Before that…
She wakes up to the smell of bacon. Which is weird because she's still in bed and there's no one else that could possibly be cooking. She rubs her eyes and stumbles out of bed and into the kitchen. The sight she finds, however, convinces her that she must still be asleep. Or dead. Yeah, dead actually sounds pretty reasonable right about now.
"Morning," Sherlock says over his shoulder as he turns the stove off.
"Who are you and what have you done with Sherlock Holmes?" she asks. He never cooks. Actually, forget cooking, he barely even eats. She wasn't sure he even knew how to turn the stove on, much less fry breakfast.
He ignores her question and gestures to the folder on the table. "We have a busy day, Amelia."
The realisation quickly dawns on her: they have a new case. It's been two full days since their last one, which means he's probably desperate to get started on this one. Suddenly things make a lot more sense. She walks over to him. "You made me breakfast to hurry me up?"
Sherlock holds up a plate of breakfast. "Shall I fill you in?"
"Moron." Amy rolls her eyes, but smiles and takes the plate. It's still sweet. You know, in his weird, stupid Sherlock way. She kisses him on the cheek and takes a seat at the table. "Alright, what are we working on today?"
Well, never mind anything before that.
"Where's the Roman?" the Doctor asks.
Amy pulls back immediately. "You mean Rory? My husband Rory, yeah?" She turns and pulls a drawing off of her desk. It's one of the only drawings she's been able to do that hasn't turned into Sherlock. "That's him, isn't it? I have no idea," she confesses. "I can't find him. But I love him very much, don't I?"
She doesn't mean for the last one to be an actual question – because of course she loves him – but somehow it still falls out that way. And she hates it. She hates not knowing, hates going on these memories based on her feelings rather than her feelings. It's enough to drive anyone mad, so yeah, it turns into a question. One she asks the Doctor. One she knows he can answer.
He doesn't though. "Apparently," he says instead. He looks at her drawing with amused eyes, and she knows she's got it all wrong again. Funny how that keeps happening, no matter how many times she tries to draw down her memories.
"It's so hard to keep remembering," she tells him.
The Doctor gives her this concerned look and for a moment, she thinks he knows. He doesn't, of course. There's no stupid way he could possibly know – he's been locked up in Churchill's palace after all – but the look he gives her is certainly sympathetic enough. "Well, it's not your fault. Time's gone wrong." He goes into the mechanics of it after that. "Now look at it. All of history happening at once."
And she knows she shouldn't say it, but she can't stop herself. It's a question that's been nagging at her from the moment she found River's diary. Since she realised what it meant for her life, for the Doctor's. "Well, does it matter? I mean," she turns her head and looks out the window, looks out at this mad universe she's been thrown into, "Can't we just stay like this?"
She can practically feel the Doctor's surprise – she doesn't have to look at his face to know it's there. This isn't a question she'd normally ask. "Time isn't just frozen," he explains. "It's disintegrating. It will spread and spread, and all of reality will simply fall apart."
Amy frowns, but nods her head once. In a way, she thinks she knew that already. This universe is an impossible one, after all. It can't be allowed to exist.
No matter who exists in it.
Note: This will be four chapters total. The next three chapters will take place in the "real" universe, but there will be a lot more Sherlock/Amy in those chapters. The second chapter is around eighty percent done, but I need to rewrite a few things before I can post it.