What If?
Guiding Light
I stared at him over breakfast, he looked like a zombie. He was refusing sleep until this case was done, stupid prat. If he fell asleep and drowned face first in the tea pot it was his own fault. I ate my toast, and seeing as John was out I'd stolen some jam from the secret jar at the back of the fridge behind the jar of congealed blood. At least I thought it was congealed blood. Sherlock really should start labelling his things. I then stared curiously at the jam, but knew it was safe to proceed as I saw strawberry seeds.
"You should start seeing some one," he muttered, staring at me over the table as he tried desperately not to become comatose. I frowned, pretending to have a mouth full of toast as I stared down at the marks on the table. "It would give you more distraction. Live a little, Amelia."
"That's what I've been trying to do." I sulked, running a hand through my hair to keep it off my face. He'd been at this for the last week, trying to convince me. It annoyed me a little. But well, he cared enough to nag, at least.
"You'd be distracted. You'd be happy. You might even crack a smile every now and then." As I looked up at him he raised an eyebrow in teasing, trying to hide the smirk that appeared at the very corners of his mouth. I just stared at him, glaring from beneath my eyelashes as I drank tea.
"There are some nice chaps working with Molly down at the morgue. Or would that dig up a few things you'd not want to?" he mumbled, and stared down at the table as I had moments before. Anything concerning Rory, The Doctor, he avoided my gaze as if I'd turn him to stone. It did still tug at my heart strings, but it didn't show now. Not on my face, any way. My face was emotionally detached from the rest of me concerning such matters and it would stay that way.
"John's nice. He obviously likes you. Why not?" he quickly suggested, changing the subject to an even more repeated one but treated with slightly less contempt. I sighed, throwing toast crusts onto the plate in front of me.
"He's nice, but..." I started, but he finished the sentence for me.
"He's too nice. You're awfully picky, Pond. No one else springs to mind at the moment. No one good enough, any way. Just stay away from Anderson. If you end up in a relationship with Anderson I will shoot you myself." He said in sharp bursts as he tried desperately again to shake off sleep, talking to keep himself awake. As he mentioned Anderson he frowned, I thought more out of habit than actual long running dislike. But then again, it didn't take much for Sherlock to dislike some one.
"No fear of that, Sherlock..." I murmured, "And what do you mean by good enough?"
"Some one that I approve of." He mused, pretending to read the newspaper he picked up from across the table.
"When do you ever approve of any one but yourself?"
And with that he shook the paper, emphasising 'I'm reading, I advise you to shut up' as I cleared the table, but left the tea pot and his cup as I wandered into the bathroom to get dressed as usual. The image in my head of him fast asleep drowning in tea made me smile to myself as I brushed my teeth. Amelia Pond, you child.
"You should start seeing some one," he muttered, staring at me over the table as he tried desperately not to become comatose. I frowned, pretending to have a mouth full of toast as I stared down at the marks on the table. "It would give you more distraction. Live a little, Amelia."
"That's what I've been trying to do." I sulked, running a hand through my hair to keep it off my face. He'd been at this for the last week, trying to convince me. It annoyed me a little. But well, he cared enough to nag, at least.
"You'd be distracted. You'd be happy. You might even crack a smile every now and then." As I looked up at him he raised an eyebrow in teasing, trying to hide the smirk that appeared at the very corners of his mouth. I just stared at him, glaring from beneath my eyelashes as I drank tea.
"There are some nice chaps working with Molly down at the morgue. Or would that dig up a few things you'd not want to?" he mumbled, and stared down at the table as I had moments before. Anything concerning Rory, The Doctor, he avoided my gaze as if I'd turn him to stone. It did still tug at my heart strings, but it didn't show now. Not on my face, any way. My face was emotionally detached from the rest of me concerning such matters and it would stay that way.
"John's nice. He obviously likes you. Why not?" he quickly suggested, changing the subject to an even more repeated one but treated with slightly less contempt. I sighed, throwing toast crusts onto the plate in front of me.
"He's nice, but..." I started, but he finished the sentence for me.
"He's too nice. You're awfully picky, Pond. No one else springs to mind at the moment. No one good enough, any way. Just stay away from Anderson. If you end up in a relationship with Anderson I will shoot you myself." He said in sharp bursts as he tried desperately again to shake off sleep, talking to keep himself awake. As he mentioned Anderson he frowned, I thought more out of habit than actual long running dislike. But then again, it didn't take much for Sherlock to dislike some one.
"No fear of that, Sherlock..." I murmured, "And what do you mean by good enough?"
"Some one that I approve of." He mused, pretending to read the newspaper he picked up from across the table.
"When do you ever approve of any one but yourself?"
And with that he shook the paper, emphasising 'I'm reading, I advise you to shut up' as I cleared the table, but left the tea pot and his cup as I wandered into the bathroom to get dressed as usual. The image in my head of him fast asleep drowning in tea made me smile to myself as I brushed my teeth. Amelia Pond, you child.
♠ ♠ ♠
Sorry for the shortness.