The Girl Who Waited for the Consulting Detective
The weather in London was drab, but much like any time of the day, the city was filled with hustle and bustle. The sight of seeing tourists wander aimlessly about made Amy Pond laugh, but also made her realize that she was absolutely certain she made a good decision leaving Leadworth – at least for now.
Walking down the sidewalk looking for potential places to work, she stopped at a men's store. Right in the window was a mannequin dressed in a tweed coat and a red bowtie.
Amy's heart stopped.
It had been only a month after the Doctor reappeared in her life after those grueling years of waiting. 12 years. 4 psychiatrists. She stuck through it, always believing that her raggedy doctor would return and he did. But just as quick, he disappeared again, leaving her heartbroken but determined. She wouldn't spend any more years cautiously waiting by her window thinking that her magic doctor would come. She would grudgingly move on because she spent 12 years of her life in a place where nothing really happened.
The time when the Doctor came back replayed in her mind. Her seeing that apple with the smiley face, Prisoner Zero, the Atraxi, the stupid bow tie, and Rory meeting the man he'd been impersonating for her all those years.
Rory was a good fellow. Friend. That's how she remembered introducing him to the Doctor.
"Uh, boyfriend," Rory's voice rang so clear in her head.
He'd always correct her like that, but it was almost like a reflex. They had been friends for so long that the word boyfriend seemed too alien for her. But Rory understood her. He understood why he had to stay in Leadworth and why she needed to go to London, alone.
Leaving the window, and pushing those memories aside, she took a look at her watch. The sky was just about dark, and her stomach was rumbling. Stepping into a restaurant she'd never been in, she took a seat in the middle of the restaurant.
A well dressed man, who was probably the owner, came to give her a menu, "Good evening. Just for one?"
Amy nodded. She wasn't embarrassed that she was eating alone, but the tone of the man's voice made her feel ashamed.
"Alright, love. Here's the menu. Would you like anything to drink? Your waiter Billy will be right with you."
"Tea, thank you," Amy said, her accent catching the looks of the men around her.
Looking around, she could smell the aromas of the different foods. Coming back with her tea, a different man, who was most likely Billy, took her order. The tea warmed her up. It didn't help that she was wearing a mini skirt, but she'd only been in London for five days. She had no time for shopping. Her flatmate made it very clear that she should find a job very soon.
She wondered what her flatmate, Sally, was doing right now. Probably working. Most of the time she was at work, or with her "boyfriend." She was a talkative one, always going on about the "freak" at work, and "Andy," who she assumed was her boyfriend. In all honesty, Sally talked about the Freak more passionately than Andy and at one point Amy thought that the Freak was her boyfriend. Other than that, she was nice.
The door to the restaurant opened, which brought in a cold draft. It made Amy shiver and she automatically reached for her tea. Billy came with her dish and left for the cash register at the door. The owner headed straight for the two men who arrived.
She began eating, but the cane caught her eye. Slowly but surely, her eyes noticed the two guys who sat down in the corner by the window. Her hair fell towards her face and she quickly brushed it away, not taking her eyes off of the men. The man with the well tailored suit underneath the dark wool trench coat and blue scarf caught sight of her and they locked eyes for just long enough for her to notice his striking blue eyes and high cheekbones. He let go of his gaze in order to introduce his friend, or boyfriend.
"I'm not his date!" the blonde man said rather loudly as the owner left.
She giggled. Amy didn't know why she was so curious. There didn't seem anything particularly interesting about the two. The man with the short sandy blonde hair had a cream sweater on over another shirt. His cane lay lazily beside him. He acted rather casual and actually seemed interested in the menu. The man with the curly hair, on the other hand, was facing the window, so Amy couldn't get a very good read of him. What was he staring at?
The owner came back with a candle and thumbs up. A candlelit dinner. Amy couldn't help but to giggle more at the man's awkwardness.
She was terribly confused to why she found the stranger facing the window so interesting. Amy continued eating and occasionally stole a glance at that table. The atmosphere there seemed tense, maybe awkward, seeing that the blonde haired man was constantly shifting in his seat. After finishing her meal, she got the bill from Billy. After paying and sipping the last of her drink, she noticed that the men were both staring out of the window. In a matter of seconds, they both leaped out of their seats with their coats and left. She managed to catch the man's eye again. She smiled. He left. Back at the table, she noticed the cane.
"Excuse me," she got the owner's attention. "I think the man sitting in the corner booth left his cane."
"Ooh, I bet Sherlock's going to be texting me soon. I wonder what's wrong with his date's leg," the owner said as he walked towards the table.
Sherlock. She thought to herself that she would never see him again.
Three nicotine patches, a text sent to a serial killer, and a minor rush of adrenaline later, Sherlock Holmes found himself in a whirlwind of adventure with his new ... friend? Was that the word? Sherlock just met John Watson fairly recently. Was it correct to call him a friend? No. Sherlock does not have friends, or so he says.
Popping into a quaint restaurant just off of 22 Northumberland St., he got the best vantage point for hopefully catching a killer.
"Thank you, Billy," Sherlock said as he walked in the door, heading straight for the table right by the windows.
Sherlock casually slipped his jacket off, revealing one of many suits that he owns. He sat down, the window to his right side. John sat facing away from the windows. Billy took away the "reserved" sign.
"22 Northumberland Street. Keep your eyes on it," Sherlock told John.
"He's not just going to ring the doorbell then, now is he? He'd need to be mad," John said as he took his coat off and placed his cane beside him.
Sherlock knew of the limp, he knew just about everything there was to know about John. But John, on the other hand, only scratched the surface of who Sherlock is and how he works.
"He has killed four people," Sherlock told him without taking his eyes off the street.
"Okay," John settled in.
A man came walking towards Sherlock and John's table, "Sherlock. Anything on the menu, whatever you want, free."
Sherlock took his hand and shook it. Looking at Angelo, the man who stood before him and John, Sherlock noticed a woman brushing her fiery red hair off her face. She and he locked eyes for only a moment, but it was long enough to notice almost everything about her, but something was off. Besides her mini skirt, which was terribly inappropriate for that time of the year, she had this look, and although it would usually take Sherlock mere seconds to figure it out, he realized that she had some underlying issues that delved deeper than what was in front of him. His glance could not understand those inner demons, but he wasn't one to go into unnecessary work to find things about a complete stranger. Besides, he had a killer to catch.
Sherlock introduced Angelo to John and briefly explained Angelo's past while keeping his eyes on the street.
"I'm not his date!" John said loudly at Angelo, breaking Sherlock's concentration.
Sherlock moved the menu to the other side of the table and caught a glance of the woman with red hair giggling. She must have caught John's reaction to Angelo's predisposition of the two.
John posed a statement, but Sherlock didn't catch it as he was too busy focusing on the people on the street, "I'm sorry?"
"In real life. There are no arch-enemies in real life. It doesn't happen," John chewed and talked at the same time.
"Doesn't it? Sounds a bit dull."
"So who did I meet?"
"What do real people have, then, in their reallives?"
"Friends? People they know, people they like, people they don't like? Girlfriends, boyfriends?"
"Well, as I was saying, dull."
"You don't have a girlfriend then?"
"Girlfriend? No, not really my area."
From Sherlock's peripheral, he saw John do a double take. In the slightest ways that regular people wouldn't see, John tensed up. John mumbled something before continuing on.
"Do you have a boyfriend?" John said which immediately caught Sherlock's attention. "Which is fine, by the way?"
"I know it's fine."
"So you've got a boyfriend?"
Sherlock was quick to respond, "No."
"Right, okay," John scoffed, before licking his lips involuntarily. Sherlock's brow creased slightly. "You aren't attached, just like me."
John resumed eating before Sherlock broke the silence, "John, um, I think you should know that I consider myself married to my work and while I'm flattered by your interest."
"I'm really not looking for anything," John kept shaking his head as Sherlock spoke.
"No, I'm not asking. No, I'm just saying. It's all fine," John awkwardly put out.
Again, from Sherlock's peripheral, he could see that the woman in the mini was looking over; probably noticing John's obvious shifting in his seat. Sherlock remained stoic.
"Can I get the bill?" the woman asked Billy.
With those simple one syllable words, Sherlock was able to deduce even more minute details about the woman, but nothing else deeper. Nothing past that Scottish accent, that long red mane, or her age. He stopped before realizing that he shouldn't care. She was no use to him at all. But why was he racking his brain around her so much throughout the evening? What was so wrong about her that he felt he needed to actually talk to her? Sherlock caught sight of a taxi stopped and idling by the curb.
"Why a taxi?" he heard himself say. "Oh, that's clever. Why is that clever?"
Quickly, Sherlock grabbed his coat and left the restaurant. Looking back into the restaurant to give John a signal to hurry, he caught the eye of the woman again. This time, she smiled. Sherlock ran off, keeping the picture of the woman smiling deep within his brain.