Oh I'm so excited! This is my first crossover fic and I could not be more happier with the pairing! This'll be fun, yes? Yes. Yes it will be. I love Doctor Who, and Sherlock. Benedict Cumberbatch and Matt Smith are beautiful people.
This story is for my dear sweet friend Regan, a girl who believes in the friendship of Sherlock Holmes and Amelia Pond. Oh dear sweet Regan…do you really think I can just make them friends?
My inspiration for this work goes out to the video "Ships in the Night / Sherlock/Amy" by Liisakee on Youtube. Watch it, like it, love it, read this. Life will be beautiful.
Like ships in the night…
You keep passing me by…
Just wasting time.
Tryin' to prove who's right.
Ships in the Night
They were childhood friends. Best friends even.
The best of friends they could be while one traveled the universe and the other traipsed about London.
Sherlock could count the number of times their timestreams had been jumbled, crossed, or erased entirely. And it was fifty three. Fifty three exactly. Fifty four, the consulting detective corrected himself as his blue eyes flitted to a framed photograph.
He knew for a fact that he and Amy had never visited the Bronx zoo, yet his brain still continued to supply memories of the occasion. The air, the taste of their abysmal coffee, the snow globe of the penguin attraction she had bought for him… it was sitting on the shelf above his headboard, if he recalled correctly.
"But never mind that." Sherlock murmured absently, reverting his gaze to the ceiling. His fingers were done in the usual prayer position and he tapped them together impatiently. He splayed across the leather couch bonelessly. His usual coat and scarf were amiss, replaced instead by his pajama bottoms, shirt, and blue bathrobe.
He needed a pen.
But John was out.
And he. was. bored.
Amy surely would have provided some form of entertainment. She had certainly kept him stimulated over the years. But she too was gone, off on some distant planet in a far off galaxy saving alien orphans or some such rubbish. Sherlock snorted, a corner of his mouth rising. She pop in sooner or later in his timestream. It really didn't matter all that much.
He really needed that pen.
The door to the flat opened. He inclined his head slightly.
"Ah, John. Welcome back."
He was not dignified with a response. Sherlock frowned, eyebrows contracting. Was he really still that upset? How childish. He scowled, turning over and drawing his robe tighter to him. His normally vivid blue eyes stared aimlessly at the upholstery. Humans being were such touchy things…Sherlock thanked God he wasn't like them.
"Could you bring me the head and a pen? I'd like to do some experiments and I'm afraid that our friend here is starting to mold." Footsteps simply walked into the kitchen.
He heard the fridge door open.
"If you could bring it here, John." Sherlock felt a brief smile touch his lips.
"What did you do now?"
Just as quickly, it disappeared. His scowl deepened. Of course it wouldn't be John, because oddly enough, John was still upset. He was still bothered by trivial matters. And Sherlock. was still. bored! He drew his knees up to his chest, sulking in a cloud of misery. Why did John have to be so damn unreasonable?
"Oy, Sherlock." A warm weight settled down to him. His grip tightened around his knees. "Go away." He muttered into the couch. Sherlock heard her suck in an indignant breath. Very not good. Then, his head hurt. His face stung. She must've hit him. She then took hold of an arm and rolled him over, splaying his limbs about the couch. He coiled up almost instantaneously again, to her chagrin.
"Nice to see you Amy, glad you didn't wind up sucked in a black hole or erased from existence!" Amy said heatedly, crossing her arms. Sherlock simply ignored her, pulling his robe taunt around her. "What's wrong?" she asked. "Be a dear and get me some tea, will you?" he grumbled, staring at the couch.
"Sherlock Bartholomew Holmes."
Oh dear, she used his full name.
Yet the detective only uttered a grunt of acknowledgement.
"What are you actin' like a child for?" When he didn't answer, she sighed, rolling him over to face her. He sprawled lazily across the leather, eyes fixed on the ceiling as if it held the answers to the universe. Amy knew for a fact that it didn't. "Talk to me, won't you? We're best friends, Sherlock. You can tell me anything."
Sherlock drug his fingers through his black hair before reverting them to the prayer position.
He let loose an irritated sigh.
"John and I had a fight." He finally stated dully.
"What'd you do now?"
He glared at her, eyes blue chips of irritation. "Apparently, I'm vicious and morally criminal." Amy nodded a bit. "You kinda are. Sometimes!" She amended her words as he glared at her.
His eyes looked up again.
"He's such a child." Sherlock grumbled crossly.
It grew quiet in 221B.
That is, until Amy started laughing at him.
She hadn't meant to. Honestly. But as soon as she did, she just couldn't stop. It was just too funny. The way he was sprawled across the couch like a string less puppet. He was pouting at the ceiling, glaring at it as though it had done him some great personal injury.
He looked like he was about five.
Sherlock looked at her and raised a single, solitary eyebrow in inquiry. She only laughed harder. He seemed mildly surprised. What on earth could she find humorous about his situation? The head was moldering away in the fridge, but simply because he had said something "heartless and sociopathic", as John so viciously put it, it was going to rot. This was a very serious matter.
Yet Sherlock felt his smile twitch.
Suddenly things weren't so boring all of a sudden. Amy's laugh echoed off the walls of the flat and filled it with warmth. It was interesting. It was nice. Sherlock had to admit that he had missed it very much.
"Okay, fine, I know it's stupid!" Sherlock finally yelled, throwing a pillow at her. She only continued laughing. "Amy." She clutched at her sides. "Amelia." It was just too funny.
"Amelia Jessica Pond, either stop your insane fit of laughter or crawl back into the TARDIS with that doctor you fancy."
She stopped and smacked him on the arm. Sherlock smirked. "Didn't I tell you to never call me Amelia, you bloody prat?" The statement didn't carry much threat. Amy blushed and looked away and the temptation to embarrass her was just so great that Sherlock sat up on one elbow to look at her. His blue eyes were alight and mischievous.
She looked well. No mistreatment on the Doctor's part then, or at least not yet. Sherlock smiled. Amy looked happy. Her hair was longer. It still was as flaming as ever, pooling about her neck and around the brilliant red scarf she wore. But she was wearing a miniskirt. And pantyhose. Wasn't it winter? He inhaled. She smelled like ice.
It looked cold outside.
Exactly how long had he been on this couch?
He scrutinized his friend.
"Oh no, you're not doing that again." Amy protested, looking away. His mouth drew up in a dangerous smile. "Sherlock!" She warned. He opened his mouth to do just 'that' and she threw a pillow over him. His deep baritone resonated through it.
"The fact that you're avoiding the latter half of my previous statement only proves my point. Not only that, but your blush and quite obvious lack of eye contact hints that the affection is not requited, or, more likely, unnoticed. Yet you continue to dress up and put your heart on the line everyday. Why? Because you believe you have a chance, that you have always had a chance, despite the fact that he is nearly a millennium old. And you may very well be right, but why bother? You want to give up more than you know, hence the converse and obviously slept in shirt from the previous day."
Sherlock sat up. He grabbed her hands and looked at her. "Now Amy, as your friend I suggest chasing after a man more suited to your needs and impeccable sense of fashion." He finished, relishing in her shocked and embarrassed look. A corner of his smiled twitched up in amusement as he looked at her. Her big green eyes were impossibly wide.
She opened, closed, and opened her mouth again. "He has fashion sense." Amy finally stammered out.
"Oh please, he wears a bowtie!" Sherlock leapt up, throwing his hands in the air. He could not believe this madness.
"So? Bowties are cool." Amy felt the words leave her mouth before she could stop them. She blinked. "I didn't mean to say that."
"Oh my God. You're quoting him now!" Sherlock yelled incredulously, flopping back onto the couch. He looked at her, scandalized. "And I thought you could sink no lower." He said in mock outrage.
"Oh stop your whinin' and mopin' about, Sherlock. I'm not about to let you and your 'Science of Deduction'," Amy said the name in a travesty of authority, "stop me from seeing how upset you are."
Sherlock turned his head back and looked at her. He grinned.
"You read it?"
"Course I do. You're my best friend."
"I'm not upset." She laughed, turning him over for the third time. "Oh yeah you are." Amy smiled. "Didja miss me? I bet that's what it is." She cocked her head, green eyes staring intensely and full of…what was it again? Sherlock wondered. Sparkles? No. Fire. Yes, fire was the more appropriate term to describe what he saw in her eyes. He knew what that meant. She was plotting.
"What are you planning, Amy?"
"What? Me? I'm not planning anything." The redhead replied, a bit too innocently.
"Come off it, you've got an idea twirling around in that head of yours I can see it trying to get out." She punched him in the shoulder. "Oh come on, don't be silly." Amy grabbed his hand. "Now," she chirped, "let's go outside, shall we?"
Sherlock's brief peek into humanity snapped close. He idly turned his gaze to the ceiling once again as he reclined back.
"There is absolutely nothing of interest to me, out there, on earth, at all." He remarked.
"Oh yea?" She grinned at him. "What about all of time and space?"
"Not interested." Sherlock said flatly, snapping his eyes to her. They were mildly annoyed.
"Not even a little?"
"Not even remotely." He drummed his fingers together impatiently.
"Well…The Doctor figured that you might feel that way…"
"He did, did he?"
"Yea." Her curious tone of voice made Sherlock look at her again. She had that smile on her face, that smile that had scared him since he was a boy and they were growing up together. It was a terrifying smile, a smile full of potential and power. And it was the only smile in the world that made him want to run.
Amy had that smile.
"So that's why he had River give me this."
The only thing Sherlock felt was Amy's hand on his arm as the flat disappeared.
"Amy, I specifically asked you to not teleport me! I'm in my house clothes for godssake and now you're…now we're…" Sherlock looked down. And swayed. "Well, I was not expecting that." He blurted in disbelief.
It was a rare thing to catch the consulting detective off guard, even more so to render the man speechless. It was a feat only accomplished by two people.
Amy was proud to be one of them.
She clapped him on the back. Sherlock jumped. "Isn't it beautiful? Admit it. You love it." He swallowed. And swallowed again. "It's…high." Amy laughed, leaning over the safety railing. "It's beautiful…Come off it. You've stood on the ledge of skyscrapers." Sherlock shook his head, backing up. He was pale. "Not this high, never this high…"
"Take me back."
Her green eyes flashed. "No!" she said indignantly. "Outside's good for you, Sherlock!" He glared at her. "That's beside the point, Amelia. You know I don't like heights." Amy laughed, looking over the Dubai skyline. "Oh, bull. It's not even that high." Sherlock wanted to grab her and shake her, but he stayed still. He could feel the structure sway in the evening breeze.
"I'm sure it's not that high for Ms. I've-traveled-the-universe-and-stood-on-top-of-Jupiter or something, but the Burj Khalifa is the tallest building in human existence! You know I hate hate hate being up this high." Sherlock crossed his arms, brooding. He was white, whiter than normal. His blue eyes, normally so veiled and closed, were mildly uneasy.
Amy looked back at him. She smiled softly. "There's my boy." She ruffled his hair fondly. "It took you a while to come back, Sherly. I was worried I'd lost my best friend for a minute there." Sherlock ducked from her hand disapprovingly. "Don't call me that, Amelia. It's Sherlock." She pouted at him.
What was wrong? Sherlock never acted like this when he was with her. He was always so happy when he was around her. He loved her company. She loved his. Amy looked at him. He was like her brother. Her big, pouty, tall brother.
Exactly how long had she been away this time? He'd been fine two weeks ago.
What time was she in anyway? She hadn't checked the clock before she left the TARDIS. Sherlock's calendar had to be at least two years old. And the Doctor had thrown her cell phone into a supernova. A supernova. Just because she wouldn't stop updating her Facebook. "Whatchu need to update Facebook for? You can't exactly put, 'Visiting the Tower of London in its heyday' as a status, Pond!"
"Three years, in case you're wondering."
Amy blinked. Sherlock was by her side again, arms crossed, nervous, brooding, upset, distant….staring out at the Dubai skyline. Tens of thousands of points of light, big and small, gold, green, red…beauty. "Sorry?" She turned her face towards him in disbelief. He wouldn't look at her. When he did, he seemed like he was holding something back. "It's been three years, Amy. That was the last time I saw you." Now her whole body was turned to him. She blinked. Her green eyes were filled with denial.
"No, nope. Couldn't have been. I had a calendar. I checked off the days until I could see you." Amy denied. He turned his head in her direction.
"Three years. I had a calendar too." Was it her wildly overactive imagination, or did he look sad…?
"Oh Sherlock, I'm sorry." She hugged him tightly. He just stood there. "I could've sworn it wasn't that long…"
"The skyline…it is…beautiful." Sherlock had trouble saying the words. He hated that Amy could make him care like this. He didn't like to care. He didn't care. "Amy, let go. You know I detest touching people." Amy smacked him on the forearm, drawing away. "Piss off." She reprimanded, but her tone was teasing.
"Three years…" Amy mused.
"Mhmmm." Sherlock nodded.
"Was that when you realized that you were gay?"
The wind whistled through the Burj Khalifa.
Sherlock's loud, almost shout of a question triggered the alarms.
That was when Amy grabbed him and timejumped back.
She was still holding him when they materialized in the flat in front of a very surprised John. "Evening all." The doctor managed to say, choking on his tea. He was the least of their problems. Amy was laughing, Sherlock was bewildered. "Oh my God, can you believe that? We almost got arrested!" Her green eyes lit up with joy at the very thought.
"We should've gotten arrested." She said to John excitedly. "We could've just timejumped out and they would be all, 'Oy, where'd they run off to?' Brilliant!"
John looked bewildered. He looked back and forth between the two for a moment. "You must be Amy. I'm John." Amy shook his hand. "Nice to meet you. Thanks for taking care of him while I was gone. It was hard, huh?" She gestured to Sherlock, who was standing perfectly still, back to them. Eyes closed.
"God." John rolled his eyes. "You would not believe what I've had to-"
"You thought I was gay?" Sherlock thundered suddenly, scandalized. He wheeled on them with a flourish of his blue robe.
"In all fairness Sherlock, I thought you were gay." John said calmly, smiling at Amy. "You told me she was a bloke, so you're even."
The smile drained from her face. "You said what?" She jumped up from her spot on the couch with that fire in her eyes again. Soon, she and the detective were toe to toe, arguing vehemently. "Never mind that, you thought I was gay!" Sherlock shouted. "That is way more drastic than me altering your gender!" Amy looked scandalized, mouth opened. "Oh so it's no big deal if I'm a boy then? Thanks for the confidence, Sherly!"
"Sherly? She calls you Sherly?" John laughed, standing up. "Good God, Sherlock. Maybe I was wrong about what I said earlier."
"Shut up, John." The two turned on him, demanding in unison. Their eyes, different hues, held exactly the same breed of passion. Needless to say, John was very terrified. "Right, I am shutting up now." Both continued arguing, Amy gaining the upperhand, Sherlock fighting until the bitter end.
"What could possibly make you think that?" Sherlock inquired. "Scarf. Depression about a simple fight with your flatmate." Amy ticked each trait off on a finger. "Never shown any interest in any girls whatsoever. No girlfriends. Nice sense of fashion." Sherlock smiled cheekily. "Thank you."
Amy gave him a triumphant look.
"No, wait, damn!" Sherlock moaned. "That doesn't prove a thing." He poked her in the chest viciously.
"That hurt." Amy said. It was simply a statement.
"I know that hurt I hurt my finger."
"Well I don't care about your finger I only care about the state of my-"
John came between the two. They had been getting dangerously close with each statement. He was worried that they were either going to shag or have a fistfight. Either option would have been disturbing. He looked back and forth between them. "Right, well, that's quite enough of that." Amy was smiling.
When John looked to Sherlock, he found the exact same grin on his face.
It was unnerving.
"Alright, I'm leaving, goodbye." He hurried down the stairs and out of the flat. "Try not to burn the flat down, you two, alright?" They didn't hear him. Amy was too busy laughing. Even Sherlock was uttering a quiet, baritone chuckle.
Sherlock came back into the living room later with two mugs of tea and popcorn balanced awkwardly in his arms. Amy was lying back on the couch, watching the television. Some spilled on the rug, but when she tried to clean it, he protested. "Mrs. Hudson will take care of it."
"Now you sound like the Sherlock I grew up with." Amy fondly leaned her head on his shoulder when he sat down. "I didn't before?" he inquired skeptically. She shook her head, loosening her scarf and draping it over a nearby table. "You seemed…distant, I don't know, like you didn't want anything to do with me." She awkwardly punched his shoulder again. "You're a prat."
Sherlock gave her a dubious glance.
"I was thinking."
"You were upset, Sherlock." Amy said with an air of finality. Her tone was caring yet forceful. "I had a row with John. I thought I'd said this earlier?" The detective raised an eyebrow. "Yea, I know." She muttered, raising her own.
Concerned, slightly irritated green stared into inquisitive blue.
"You don't believe me."
"Not a bit." Amy turned to the television as a girl screamed. "I think…" she leaned her head up on his shoulder, smiling at him. "…you missed me." Sherlock chuckled darkly. "Hardly." He too began to watch the movie. It was a shame when Amy fell asleep mere minutes later. He had already found out who the killer was. But she had fallen asleep on him, drooling.
So Sherlock Holmes decided to sit there for a bit.
And allow himself the simple comfort of just being…normal.
A very peaceful, very rested Sherlock awoke the next morning to the sound of whirring. Morning streamed in through the windows of the flat as he blinked and looked about. His arm felt numb. There was a ginger laying on it.
Within moments, the TARDIS had materialized dangerously close to their couch. Amy didn't seem to wake. She only stirred and muttered, "Doctor…", from her perch on his arm. He had moved it around her when he noticed her shivering. And then she wouldn't let it go. Sherlock had tried everything. Gentle coaxing, forceful pushing, and at one point he considered an acid drip. He had wanted to test the effects of hydrochloric acid on skin…
He cast an irritated glance at the bowtied, suspendered man. "Do not wake her, understand?" Sherlock hissed over her sleeping form. The Doctor's eyes widened to unnatural, childlike proportions. He seemed genuinely surprised. "But I need her to go to the 53rd century with me. Now." He hissed just as urgently back, walking forward. "There's some funny business with a satellite and the owner will only talk to gingers!"
Carefully, gingerly, Sherlock managed to take back his arm. He took the Doctor to the kitchen. "Why can't you just dye your hair?" The man was bouncing nervously from foot to foot, sonic screwdriver nervously being fiddled with. "Already tried that. Saw through me in about a minute. Said I didn't act like a ginge, can you believe it? Took me six months to get it the original shade again and not a thing came from it!" The Doctor said indignantly.
"Yes, that's all very well, but can you be quiet?" Sherlock cast a glance at his sleeping friend. Her mouth was open. She sporadically twitched and mumbled. And she drooled. He smiled, before turning back into his sociopathic self as his cold blue eyes cut to the Doctor. The Doctor smiled.
"You know what today is. I need her as far away as you can possibly take her." He pointed to her. "I need her completely at ease." He looked the Doctor straight in the eyes. They were almost equal in height. "Are we clear?" Sherlock demanded.
The Doctor sonicked him quickly. "As clear as the glass gardens of Tarmania."
Sherlock didn't even bother to ask.
"Now." The Doctor clapped his hands together loudly. Amy jumped. "Come along Pond, we've got a planet to save!" She smiled at him sleepily, rubbing her eyes and rising. She followed him without question, always trailing behind him with that grin on her face.
Sherlock looked at her.
He looked at her for a long time.
And when she turned to him that final time, bathed in the light of the TARDIS, he panicked a bit.
"Amelia!" Sherlock grabbed her and pulled into an unexpected hug. "Sherlock…?" Amy drew his name out in confusion. "Amy." He corrected himself, holding her. She hugged him back. "Thought you 'detested' touching people?" she teased, voice muffled. "Goodbye, Amy." She drew back and punched him in the shoulder again.
"You act like I'm never coming back."
She hugged him.
"I'm coming back, stupid."
"Good." Sherlock drew back. "I'm looking forward to it." He waved as the TARDIS dematerialized.
John sleepily poked his head out from the stairs. "Was that Amy leaving?" He nodded. "Alright then, I am going down to the bakery. Would you like anything?" Sherlock shook his head. John left.
And Sherlock ended up where he started the previous day.
He flopped on the couch, drew his knees up, and pulled his blue robe around himself.
Amelia Pond and Sherlock Holmes.
They had been best friends since the first moment she had told him about her Raggedy Doctor.
He hadn't believed her, and called her crazy.
She bit him.
And he cried.
It was the first and last time he had ever done that.
Three hours later, Sherlock was showered and dressed. In place of his usual blue, a brilliant red scarf hung about his neck.
"Sherlock? You going out?" John voice floated down to him.
"Just for a bit. Need some air." His phone beeped.
"Yea. Bye." Sherlock looked down.
Yes, I gave Sherlock a middle name. Yes, he's wearing Amy's scarf. And yes, I stole a quote from the Sherlock Holmes movie. Anyone who can guess said quote receives a dedication next chapter and a Benedict Cumberbatch imaginary plushy.