Hello lovely readers! This story's idea sort of evolved from my first Sherlock/Amy story, the Girl Who Waited for the Consulting Detective, so much of the story may essentially be the same; however, what I hope to try to narrate is a more action packed and inclusive role for Amy in a Sherlock-esque story. Thanks for reading!
The Sherlock Complex
The Doctor was dead. No one could comfort Amelia Pond. Amy. Only the Doctor could call her Amelia. River, her daughter, was travelling through time, and couldn't stay long to keep her mother in good spirits. Rory was also taking the death pretty hard. He'd grown close to the Doctor and couldn't bear to take on both his and his wife's grievances.
When Amy unexpectedly told Rory that she wanted to move away from Leadworth, he questioned her. It was so out of the blue and without any warning. He tried to convince her that Leadworth was where they belonged. That town was their way of remembering the Doctor. Their adventures started there, so why would she want to move? He also had a career there, and he couldn't give that up either.
She surprised him more when she said that he should stay in Leadworth. She wanted to go alone. Rory couldn't get a reason out of her, but he abided by her wishes. She promised him that she wouldn't spend too long there – maybe a few months – and he was always welcomed to visit. The day she left was a somber day for the couple. She was certainly happy that she was finally trying to move on from the Doctor, but she knew she was being selfish by leaving Rory alone.
Amy couldn't stand to be in Leadworth. She was blaming herself for his death. If she didn't pray to Santa for someone to come fix her crack, maybe he wouldn't have showed up. Maybe if she never went outside to see what the ruckus was, he never would have introduced himself. Then again, it could have all been a fixed point in time that Amy couldn't have stopped. Why did his death have to be a fixed point in time? She needed to leave to forget about these emotions. Every new adventure she had, no matter how small, she would think of the Doctor. She didn't want to remember all of the exciting adventures they had because it only brought her to tears by the time she reached her last memory of the Doctor. She wanted a peaceful life – at least for now.
Between the times she told Rory she wanted to get away to the time where her feet touched the streets of London, she already secured a job – a modeling contract – and a flat. Everything was set. She kissed Rory on the lips hard, promising him that she'll come back, and demanding him to go visit when he can.
The cab dropped her off in front of the apartment complex. She looked at her slip of paper that had the apartment number on it. 221c Baker Street.
The dream was happening in reverse. She lay there in the sand sobbing. Her head was on his chest, hoping, praying, that any of the Doctor's hearts would miraculously start beating. But it wouldn't, and she'd keep crying. She couldn't breathe and her tears were making everything blurry.
"Wake up. Go on, wake up! You stupid, bloody idiot," she stroked his head.
Amy held her knees closer to her body and slightly rocked in her place just staring in disbelief. River looked at Amy with eyes that are full of apologizes. Apologizes that will extend even past the Doctor's death.
"I'm sorry," his last words sounding like an echo in Amy's mind.
She watched as he began to regenerate. She could feel and see the pain that he was experiencing. She felt Rory and River holding her back. The Doctor gets shot by an Apollo astronaut.
The sound of a gun being shot was heard. Amy woke up in a panic and got up as quickly as she could. She hadn't met the upstairs occupants, besides Mrs. Hudson, so maybe someone was being shot. She grabbed her phone and was just about to call the police when she heard someone running up the stairs shouting.
"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?!" the man yelled.
"Bored!" the second man yelled.
Bored? Amy mouthed. Who was so bored that he would shoot a gun in the middle of his living room? She heard some more mumbling coming from the two men upstairs, and then two pairs of feet going up and down the staircase.
Amy plopped her head back onto her pillow and went back to sleep. The only problem was that she kept seeing the Doctor's cold body lying in the sand. It was only her first day in London, so she reassured herself that it would take a little while longer to forget about the nightmare that consumed her thoughts.
It didn't take her long to forget when an explosion rattled Baker Street.
The glass from all her small windows shattered. She clutched her phone in one hand and tried to get to her door. Since she just moved in that afternoon, she didn't have to dodge any furniture in the empty living room. Her ears were ringing and it made it harder for her to walk. One floor up, Amy saw Mrs. Hudson on the ground trying to get up.
"Mrs. Hudson! Are you alright?" She helped Mrs. Hudson to her feet.
"I'm fine, dear," she said as she brushed the soot off her sweater.
Mrs. Hudson's eyes went wide, "Sherlock!"
"Who?" Amy asked.
"Sherlock, he lives upstairs with John. He must still be upstairs!" Mrs. Hudson was about to leap into action to try to save Sherlock, but Amy held her back.
"I'll go," Amy said.
"Be careful, love," Mrs. Hudson told a coughing Amy.
Amy was only in a nightie, which probably wasn't the best attire for someone who was trying to save someone amongst a heap of rubble, but it would have to work for her now. The room Amy had to cautiously step in looked like a warzone. Shattered glass was everywhere, torn books were scattered about, and a groaning man was on the ground. That must have been Sherlock. Amy maneuvered her way around the rubble and got to Sherlock. Sherlock put his arm around her as she led him down the stairs. She had to muster up her energy to even support Sherlock's body.
"Are you okay?"
He was still groaning, but she took that as a yes. As soon as they were outside, Sherlock let go of his grip as he was coming to his senses. The other people who didn't seem injured were huddled in the middle of a street. Sirens from a fire truck were blaring from down the block. Ambulances were slowly pouring in. Amy led Sherlock to the nearest ambulances. She insisted that they both get checked out even though he was adamant in saying that he was fine.
Her nightie was now covered in dirt, and she was freezing. She just wanted a blanket, but the paramedic ignored her request because they had run out. Sherlock walked over to her.
"Here," Sherlock gave his blanket to her. "They keep giving me this blanket."
"It's for shock," the paramedic told him.
"But I'm not in shock, and she's freezing!" he yelled at the man.
Sherlock draped the blanket over Amy's pale and shivering body.
"Thanks," she said.
Sherlock nodded and walked away.
As he was getting patched up for a few cuts in a different ambulance, she silently watched. Sherlock was in a now tattered dark blue robe. TARDIS blue? She shook her head – she had to stop comparing things that were dark blue with the colour of the TARDIS. Observe everything. She heard the Doctor's voice in her head. After going to Starship UK, she eventually got the hang of noticing just about everything, though she would never be up to the Doctor's standards. Sherlock's curly hair was in a mess, though she guessed that he didn't usually do his hair anyways. He was tall, from what she remembered, and was pretty slim, but had enough strength and stamina to survive the explosion. He had high cheekbones, and eyes that were blue? Green? It was hard to tell in the light coming from the streetlamps. Remembering the state of his flat, she noticed the bookcase full of books and papers strewn all over the floor. Was he a scholar of some sort or did he just enjoy reading? He couldn't have been a teacher or professor, going by the fact that he had a lot of test tubes and apparatuses in the kitchen than someone of that profession would have. And the skull. A scientist maybe? The way he presented himself, though, suggested something entirely different. Sherlock's actions, that Amy could observe from him sitting still in the ambulance, were very reserved, and he obviously wasn't succumbing to shock. Had he been in situations like this before?
Amy was about to introduce herself as she realized questions were being piled up in her brain, but none of them answered, but Sherlock left as fast as she brought him outside. He was already walking back to the flat, even after the police man advised him not to. She saw Mrs. Hudson talking to a few people. She wandered over and Mrs. Hudson caught sight of her. From what Amy gathered, Mrs. Hudson was not just any lady.
"Well, what a day in London, wouldn't you say so?" Mrs. Hudson, who seemed as calm as a rock, said to Amy. "I hope this means you won't be moving out."
"No, I don't think so," Amy wasn't sure.
An explosion wasn't going to rattle her bones – she'd been through so much more with the Doctor that an explosion was almost at the bottom of her "level of danger" list. This was exciting for her. She frowned. Standing in the middle of the street in the middle of the night, Amy was beginning to doubt if going to London was a correct choice. She wanted to get away from the crazy, and the danger, yet she was staring at it right in the face. Did she want the peaceful? She knew it didn't suit her, and like anything exciting, she was instinctively drawn into it. These thoughts turned into frustrations. But those frustrations turned into exhaustion. She, like the other people, had been waiting a few hours for the Ok to return to their flats.
It was just after three in the morning that she finally returned to her flat after the fire wardens told her and the group of people that it was more or less safe to return. She opened her door and went straight to sleep – the exhaustion being too much for her to clean up the glass or to dream of the Doctor.