A/N: A Pondlock fic which I posted earlier this week but severely edited and put under a new name. I love Pondlock (OTP yayy!) and this is a fic which is going to be split into parts. A bit of kid!pondlock and teen!pondlock too, but its not the conventional stuff.
I really hope you enjoy! Drop a review and tell me what you think- should I continue?
(Disclaimer: Don't own a soul).
25th June 1998
"I thought we'd already established this. I don't have the time. I'm here to play chess, not argue with small girls."
-Sherlock Holmes (aged fourteen)
"Now Amelia," Aunt Sharon tutted, patting her niece's hair down with the palm of her hand while Amelia reluctantly let her, "You're going to try at this tournament. You're not going to go off on a tangent, you're going to remain silent, and you're going to play properly. Right?"
Amelia scowled and folded her arms. It wasn't her fault that she got distracted, was it? It was always that leaf-blower from outside that sounded like a familiar noise or a flash of blue as a man in a raggedy shirt flew by the window. If these little signs kept popping up, how was she ever meant to play properly? "Yes, Aunt Sharon."
Aunt Sharon cocked her head to one side, a patronising little smile on her face which Amelia despised. The face which always seemed to appear whenever Amelia got a good grade on her school report (which was normally pretty rare) or when Amelia got chosen to read a poem in assembly or when Amelia did something that Sharon felt vaguely proud of. The kind of face that Amelia rather Aunt Sharon reserved for children much younger than herself (she was nine, after all) - the age group that would most likely appreciate it. "My little Amelia. Chess English National Finals."
Amelia rolled her eyes. "Yeah, yeah. Whatever."
Aunt Sharon sighed with exasperation at Amelia's careless tone. She gripped the nine year olds chin in her hand and forced her niece to look her in the eyes. "Don't look like you don't care. You've worked hard to get here, Amelia. Don't blow it."
"Fine." Amelia murmured. "But if the Doctor shows up, don't blame me. Because I would go off with him in a heartbeat."
Now it was Sharon's turn to be exasperated. It was two whole years since the Doctor 'crashed' into their garden and still Amelia wouldn't tire of talking about her supposedly real physician. Maybe now was the time to think about getting her a psychiatrist- it was really worrying that at nine, Amelia still hadn't got out of her head that nobody crash landed into their back garden in a big blue time machine.
"Forget about the Doctor, Amelia. Concentrate on the chess. Because the chess is real, and the Doctor isn't. Right?" Aunt Sharon gestured, but Amelia just stared up at her Aunt blankly.
Sharon shook her head, pressing her forefingers against her temples. She closed her eyes, hoping that her clearly troubled niece would look less vacant when she opened them. She didn't. "Look, Amelia, you're intelligent. You're the youngest player at this tournament, and the only one who has ever come from Leadworth! Just, make an effort. For one day."
Amelia prided herself on being the most stubborn girl in Leadworth, but she sighed and let her unbreakable façade weaken. Maybe if it would just shut her Aunt up and stop her from asking these stupid questions. "Okay. I'll make the effort."
Sharon almost danced with relief. Maybe her ward would finally see how good she could be if she won this big tournament. "Thank you, Amelia. Now let me see you."
Amelia stood up from the plastic, uncomfortable chair in which she'd been sat on and let her Aunt scan her outfit. All competitors had to wear their school uniform, unfortunately, so she was stuck in her red Leadworth Primary sweatshirt and polo top, as well as the grey skirt and long white socks which Aunt Sharon forced upon her to wear. Amelia Pond never wore skirts- she wore trousers. Yet Aunt Sharon wouldn't even let her out the house in her normal school pants. And, of course, her shoes were about ten times shinier than usual and were without the scuffs at the toes. Amelia didn't understand the meaning behind polishing shoes; they were just going to get scuffed again within the week.
"Lovely." Aunt Sharon announced after about five minutes of intensely studying Amelia's appearance.
Amelia tugged on the corners of her knee-length skirt uncomfortably. "I still don't understand why I have to wear a skirt."
"Because it's smart, Amelia. I thought we'd already discussed this." Sharon rolled up the sleeve of her coral cardigan (which really didn't suit her and had a suspicious yellow stain on the back) to check the time on her watch. "Now, where are Mrs Baker and Rory? They went to the toilets fifteen minutes ago. The tournament is supposed to start in an hour and we need to get you checked in."
Amelia shrugged her shoulders at her Aunt as to the whereabouts of her school teacher and her friend. Mrs Baker took no interest in the fact that Amelia played chess rather well but she felt compelled to show her face at the Finals, probably to make out that she supported Amelia's talents if she won or claim she didn't have so high expectations of her pupil if she lost. Amelia didn't like Mrs Baker all that much. She liked Mr Trevors, the upper school teacher who got her into chess in the first place, so much more.
As for Rory, he was the only friend Amelia was allowed to take in the end. For some reason, Mels wasn't permitted to join them on their trip. Maybe it was because Mels treated chess like a football game, or maybe it was because it was always Mels who got Amelia off the beaten track in the first place. Or maybe it was because Aunt Sharon had always hated Mels and preferred Rory in the first place.
Aunt Sharon tutted once again at the watch on her wrist and looked in the direction Mrs Baker and Rory had left now twenty minutes beforehand. "Stay here for a moment, Amelia. I'm just going to see where they've got to."
Amelia nodded solemnly. The kind of nod which meant she definitley was not going to do as she was told.
Aunt Sharon knew that nod. "I'm serious, Amelia. I don't want you to have moved when I get back."
Amelia nodded again, and all Aunt Sharon could do was accept it. She took one last glance at her troublesome niece before clattering out of the hall, her high heels clicking against the polished wood floor.
Amelia smiled to herself before hauling out of the stupid, hard plastic chair. She, of course, was going to make the most of her Aunt's absence. She had a right to as she was in for a pretty intense afternoon of chess-playing with England's best. How she was one of England's best, she had no idea. Amelia didn't even like playing chess. She was pretty much forced into it by her Aunt- she couldn't help that she was quite good at it. Even if her attention-span was reasonably weak.
She looked around the hall. It was a big space, almost five times the size of the hall at Leadworth Primary. There weren't many people in this area; apart from the odd child waiting with their parents, there was only a woman and a man behind a desk near the door- pieces of paper clipped to the surface covered in children's names. This woman and man would check off your name on the list and hand you a sheet of matches which were to be played, and the times. Amelia was yet to be ticked off on that list thanks to her incompetent Aunt and her even more incompetent teacher.
Well, you know what they say. If you want a job doing, do it yourself. Amelia couldn't understand why Aunt Sharon hadn't ticked her off as soon as they arrived, which seemed the only logical way to do it- seeing as Rory could end up spending hours just in the toilet and Mrs Baker could talk for bloody England. No, stuff that, Mrs Baker could talk on behalf of the universe. So many mind-numbingly boring pre-assembly speeches had made that point so, so clear.
She pulled her flappy, grey skirt further up her waist (stupid thing) and scuffed her shoes on the floor as she walked in attempt to make them a bit less shiny and a bit more her, but was interrupted by a bout of pressure surging into her from behind.
Amelia stumbled forward, just catching her footing so that she didn't tumble to the ground, scuffing her hands across the rough surface of one of the plastic chairs.
She expected the person who had did this to her to apologise and maybe smile, before going on their way. But no. Not this time. The boy just ignored her, pretended the whole thing didn't happen, and walked off.
"Oy!" Amelia yelled out loudly, dusting off her knees. She didn't care that the other people in the room had turned to look at her for her boisterousness. "Watch it!"
The boy (who must've been around thirteen, fourteen maybe) failed to even look back at her- he kept walking on. Now, that was rude. Was his horrendously curly mop of black/dark brown hair on his head blocking his ears or something? Or was he so stupidly tall for his age that he couldn't hear below shoulder-level?
Amelia charged after the boy until they were walking instep- Amelia having to speed-walk to keep up with the teenager's long strides. She poked him in the shoulder, leaving a small dint in the blue nylon of his St Bartholomew's High School blazer.
He looked down at her with a face so disgusted that Amelia thought it was like he was looking down at the rat Aunt Sharon and her found dead, rotting in the corner of their garage. Amelia found that rather insulting- she was most defintiley a human being, not a rodent carcass.
"Yes?" the boy enquired, a hint of snootiness in his voice. The kind of high-and-mighty voice which politicians used on the telly to prove how much of a higher citizen they were compared to everyone else, when they really weren't. "I would say 'can I help you?' but I evidently don't have the time. So desist poking me."
Amelia looked up at him, her big, brown eyes wide with disbelief. This guy talked as if he was from the Victorian era- and, more palpably than that, he really was that obnoxious. "You just pushed me over."
The boy frowned and then shrugged his shoulders. "So? You're alive, aren't you?"
That was his reply? Seriously? "That's not the point and you know it isn't! I want an apology. Now."
The boy sighed, shaking his head at his watch. "I thought I'd already established this. I don't have the time. I'm here to play chess, not argue with small girls."
This really was taking the biscuit. First he shoved her over, next minute he was insulting her size! "I am not small! You're just abnormally tall!"
The boy snorted, hiding a smirk. "Well, it isn't just your size which is small if you believe that to be true."
Amelia rolled her eyes. She debated whether it really was worth it to get involved in an argument just over an apology- she just didn't expect this boy to be so damn smug and smartarse! But once Amelia Pond got started in a trade of witty remarks, she didn't back down. And she certainly didn't let the other side win. During the duration Amelia had been alive, nobody had ever triumphed over her; she always got what she wanted in the end.
"Apologise to me, Curly, or I swear I'll follow you for the rest of your life." Amelia threatened, the most serious expression on her clearly rounded face.
Usually, people were pretty scared by Amelia's warning face. But not this boy. He looked at her, spluttered a chuckle then threw his head backwards as an explosion of deep, cold laughter escaped his lips. "Curly? Seriously? And the whole following-me-for-the-rest-of-my-life thing isn't really going to work."
Oh yeah? You wait, Curly. You wait until the Doctor comes back for me. He's going to take me round the universe in his little blue box and I'm going to make him find you. And when you see me in the sky you'll be the one who…
"You don't know that." Amelia contradicted. "You don't know that I won't be able to."
The boy smirked. "Clearly, seeing as you don't even have a car. And seeing as you come from Leadworth and I come from London, I hardly believe you're going to get very far without a motor."
Amelia folded her arms. The queue to sign in had gone down significantly and now the pair were just standing in the hall, too enthralled by their argument to notice what was going on around them. "How would you know that I don't have a car? I could have two. Or three. You don't know that."
"Well," the boy started, the foundations of a smug expression setting in his long, pale face, "I can't say that for definite, but there are clear signs that you're a walker instead of a passenger. Your posture is taut and straight, suggesting that you don't sit down as often, as well as the fact that most passengers sit in plastic chairs with their backs against the back- whereas you sit straight. You also caught the train here going by how you have brought all your belongings here with you instead of leaving in the boot of your car like any other person here." the boy approached her closer. "You get the train frequently. There's traces of green fibres on your skirt which are found on the seats of the Scotland-England train line, as well as you having an oyster card. I can see it, in your pocket- its bent, used. You keep it in your pocket because you guard it with your life, because if you didn't have it you don't have any route out of Leadworth. If you had a car, you wouldn't have an oyster card- you only have oyster cards if you board trains often. And you wouldn't board a train on your own at your age, meaning you would have to have an adult with you. An adult who doesn't have a car."
Amelia looked up at him, astounded, for a second. The gaze between the two of them was almost unbreakable.
Then she shoved him away. "Piss off. I still didn't hear an apology amongst all that showing off."
The boy tutted and sighed. "You really are impossible. Why can't you accept that I don't do apologies, Ginger?"
"I bet you have loads of friends, Curly, if that's your attitude." Amelia muttered at his statement. His whole not-got-a-care regard to her feelings was becoming tiresome. Surely he wasn't like that in reality? Nobody was that cold.
A dark look flickered across the boy's features. He turned away from Amelia, pulling his blazer tighter around himself. "I don't do friends, either. I don't need them."
"I don't need friends either," Amelia inputted, "But I still have them. You need a few people on your side."
"I have my own side. I don't need anyone else on it." the boy stated, his voice remarkably low and deep. "Definitley not small girls."
Amelia laughed icily. "Who says I want to be on your side? We've only just met at you're already one of the most arrogant idiot's I've ever met. Anyway, your head is big enough to take up your whole 'side' so I wouldn't worry about that, Curly."
The boy smiled a little, which almost instantly made a little grin appear on Amelia's lips too. "As long as we're clear on that. The name's Sherlock Holmes, by the way."
"Amelia Pond." Amelia introduced herself, "And I'm still waiting for that apology."