Sherlock sat next to Amy on the edge of the bathtub per her request. She kept insisting that him just standing around was "weird." When he asked her to elaborate she simply replied, "it's just weird, okay? Come sit." So he did. Next to him, she ran her hands through the bath water. When she caught him watching her, she only stopped long enough to flick water at him. He glared at her and she simply smiled in return, obviously amused by his distain. John, who had left to fetch towels for Amy, returned and quietly placed to the towels on the sink. He hesitated at the door as if he forgot something. His body posture told Sherlock that John was worried. The way he looked back and forth from Sherlock to Amy told Sherlock that it was them that was causing John to worry, although he couldn't figure out why.
"Do you need anything else? Some tea or something?" John asked Amy.
"Some tea would be nice," Amy replied. "Thank you."
John nodded then turned to Sherlock and extended the same offer. Sherlock quickly agreed hoping John would understand that he wanted him to vanish for a while. John shuffled out and closed the door behind him.
"Alone again," Amy noted when John's footsteps faded out completely. Sherlock said nothing. He was too busy trying to understand what had happened before John had interrupted he and Amy in his bedroom and what would have happened. He hadn't been that close to anyone with a pulse in years. There had been a few women between his time at uni and his years spent as a junkie but none of them were ever serious. He was with them because he was bored or because he hadn't yet learned to divorce his mind from his body and its urges. Most selfish of all, he wanted to feel adored by someone, even if if was only for a few temporary moments of mustered up lust. Then he got clean and became the world's only consulting detective and romance became low on his list of priorities. Despite what most of the world though, Sherlock knew love was quite simple and therefore boring. He never saw the need to fall in love as long as there were criminals in London. But Amy Pond was different. She wasn't another girl at university.
As if she could read his mind, she reached out and put her hand on top of his. The jolt back in to the present made him flinch and he saw Amy's face fall at his reaction. Before she could pull her hand away, he turned his over and laced his fingers halfway through hers. The corners of her mouth started to pull in to a smile and she looked away from him. Sherlock could tell she had something on her mind, so he said nothing and let her think.
Sherlock looked down at their intertwined fingers, trying to decide what to do next. Even in his days of intimacy, he wasn't one for romance. Every action and moment spent with previous women was simply to gain something. Drugs, a temporary escape from boredom or one's own mind, or a moment of being cherished and held close. There were no boyfriends and girlfriends or dates or infatuation. This was one of the few circumstances that Sherlock's intellect would be no help. He could feel himself starting to over think and he knew he had to focus his attention on something else. Sherlock turned his attention back to his and Amy's hands and memorized everything he saw. The way his hand engulfed hers, how her pale skin stretched over her knuckles, the pattern of freckles across the back of her hand. But the study of how her hand looked when it was tangled with his lead him to discover something he didn't want to see, even though it wasn't there.
Her ring finger had an indent where a ring had been. It had faded a bit so Amy hadn't worn the ring for a while. But seeing as it could take several months and even years for ring marks to fade, he couldn't be sure how long ago she had taken it off. It could have just been a meaningless accessory but since it was on her left hand and that the size and shape of the mark strongly suggested that it was an engagement ring, Sherlock doubted it was anything else. There were no other marks on any of her fingers so she didn't wear any other rings regularly. Since she had been wearing the same gold initial pendant and small stud earrings each time he saw her over the last few months, Sherlock could tell Amy wore her jewelry for sentimental purposes. So she wasn't one to coordinate her jewelry with her outfits. All signs pointed to engagement ring.
In the commotion of recent events, Sherlock had forgotten that he knew Amy had a boyfriend. Or maybe those same events tricked his mind in to thinking she didn't have one anymore. It had been quite a while since he had seen her last. And she had gone out in an expensive dress she had obviously just bought to wear on her night out to an upscale club with her friends and accepted a drink from a man that she thought wanted to chat her up. Sherlock didn't claim to be an expert on women, but from what he did know her actions appeared to be those of a woman who was unattached. But the mark from the engagement ring told a different story. Amy wasn't unattached at all. She was attached to anyone she found interesting. She had almost convinced Sherlock that she understood what it was like to have a mind that never slowed and a constant need to be entertained or distracted. But she was just another Jennifer Wilson with the only difference being Amy had managed to escape when someone tried to kill her.

For the first time in years, Sherlock remembered what it felt like to be hurt by someone. It was distracting and convoluted and not something he had a desire to deal with. He had followed all the precautions with Amy that he had with everyone else to keep himself from caring. It didn't solve cases or save lives, so what was the point? But twice now he had failed himself. When he met John, he had hoped for a useful partnership with an army doctor. But after knowing each other for a little over twenty-four hours, John had made himself an invaluable friend. But Amy had done nothing to make him care for her but here she was, just woken up from a night she spent in his bed and clothes because he couldn't bear the sight of her in a hospital bed or gown. Even though he was angry with her for using him to distract herself, he was more angry with himself for letting it happen and for caring.

A quiet tap on the door broke both Sherlock and Amy out of their deep thinking state. On the other side of it, John shifted awkwardly, unsure if he should go in or not. Deciding against going inside, he hesitantly told Sherlock through the door that Lestrade has just arrived.
"I'll be right there," Sherlock replied. John senses something was wrong in the tone of his voice but he knew it wouldn't do much good asking him if he was okay. So he turned around and walked back to the living room where Lestrade was chatting with Mrs. Hudson.
"He'll be out in a minute," John told him.
"I do hope they hurry. I've got breakfast cooking and I don't want theirs to go cold," Mrs. Hudson pouted.
"I'll drag them out if I have to, Mrs. Hudson," Lestrade joked. She gave him a small appreciative smile before dashing back to the flat's messy kitchen to tend to the food. A few seconds later, Sherlock sauntered in to the room and threw himself in to his chair and stared off in to the distance without saying a word to anyone.
"Good morning to you, too," Lestrade said sarcastically earning a grunt in response from the detective.
"What took you so long?" John asked, trying to not sound too concerned knowing that it would just annoy Sherlock.

"I had a few questions to ask Amy," Sherlock replied inscrutably. His gaze shot over to John and he looked him up and down before staring back at nothing. "You're worried about my interactions with her," he deduced by the way John was standing with his hands tightly laced together to prevent them from fidgeting. Sherlock could tell that John wanted to ask how he knew but simply shook his head in vexation.
"Yes," he sighed. "It's just-"

"Just what?" Sherlock spat out. "Don't want to leave her alone with a sociopath?"

"Boys, don't fight in front of the guest! It's not polite," Mrs. Hudson scolded from the kitchen.

Lestrade chuckled. "Oh, I don't mind. It's nice to see someone give Sherlock a taste of his own medicine," he assured her. Sherlock glared at him for a second before turning his attention back to John.
"Just what, John?" he pressed.

"She's a nice girl, Sherlock. And she obviously fancies you for some reason. Just don't take advantage of that," John said wearily.
"Not to mention her boyfriend might not appreciate the attention you're giving Ms. Pond whether she fancies you or not," Lestrade added. Sherlock shook his head and muttered "fiance" under his breath.
"Hang on, did you just say 'fiance'?" John asked, unsure that he had heard Sherlock correctly.
"Yes, she's engaged. Obviously," Sherlock replied. Both John and Lestrade stared at him, expecting him to continue. He sighed and rolled his eyes. "There's an indent on her left ring finger made by wearing an engagement ring that's no longer there."

"Where is it then?" Lestrade asked.
"At her flat. It's started to fade so she doesn't wear it often. Probably takes it off for work. And when she goes out apparently," Sherlock said. So that's why he's in a bad mood, John thought as he watched Sherlock's hands clench in to tight fists.

"Or maybe they called off the engagement?" John suggested.

Sherlock cocked his eyebrow and turned to Lestrade. "Detective Inspector, you interviewed the boyfriend, correct?" he said.

"Yes. Rory Williams, twenty-two years old, works part time at Bart's." Lestrade read from his notes. "Ms. Hooper from the morgue helped me track him down,"

"And when was the last time he saw Amy?" Sherlock inquired.
Lestrade flipped to another page of his notes and replied, "At the flat the two share."
"How often do you think someone would continue to share their flat with their fiance after becoming estranged, John?" Sherlock asked contemptuously.

"It still could be a possibility," John answered, trying to defend his position.
"But a very unlikely one," Sherlock refuted.

"That's not the point, Sherlock. The point is despite whatever her situation is, Amy is interested in you. And you are interested in her in one way or another. Whether or not she's engaged is beside the point right now because she was violently attacked last night and you're the only one who can catch the guy who did it and we need you to focus on that," John said, no longer trying to be delicate. Sherlock was never one for subtle hints despite being to solve crimes on the most miniscule pieces of evidence. John wondered how someone so sensationally brilliant could be so dangerously thick.

With every word John said, Sherlock had to force himself to bite his tongue and hold back his anger. As usual, John only saw what he wanted to. Of course Sherlock wasn't angry that Amy was engaged. He was angry that he had so foolishly believed that he had met someone who could be his equal, someone that understood what it was like to have a mind that never halted or slowed, that knew what it was like to be an outcast. Instead he found a young lady who knew how to make someone feel special so she could have their attention. That would be enough to make anyone angry. And John questioning Sherlock's ability to separate himself from things that plagued him while he worked or even most of the human range of emotion was a sore spot.

"I think I know what I'm doing, John," Sherlock growled deafeningly.

"Sherlock, lower your voice!" Mrs. Hudson shouted at him.

"We're just asking you to be careful is all," Lestrade said calmly. In the five years that he had known Sherlock, he had seen his fair share of his temper tantrums and his full on manic behavior. His temper had improved considerably since he had stopped using narcotics to hinder his mind and started helping with cases but Lestrade knew that it could always make a full return. "Whatever is going on with Amy and Rory is unimportant. Getting Amy's attacker off the street is what we all need to focus on," he said to both of the other men.

"If you three are done shouting abuse at each other, your food is done," Mrs. Hudson said, annoyed by all of their yelling.
"I'll go tell Amy then," John said and made his way back to the bathroom before Sherlock could volunteer or protest. And if he was honest, he could use a few moments away from Sherlock's massive attitude. When he got to the end of the hall, John knocked lightly on the door and called to Amy. When he didn't hear anything in response, he assumed she hadn't heard him and tried again. After not getting a response for a second time, he cracked the door a bit and listened for any kind noise.
"Amy, it's John. Mrs. Hudson has made breakfast," he said gingerly. Still nothing. John had started to fear the worst. It was possible that her head injury could cause her to pass out and drown in the bath water or have a seizure and asphyxiate. Or she could have just dozed off and was completely fine and John was overreacting but he didn't care to risk it. He opened the door all the way and saw Amy completely submerged and motionless. "Oh my god, Amy!" John yelled and raced to the tub.

In the living room, Sherlock heard John's exclamation and shout of of his chair. He came bursting in to the bathroom just in time to see a very surprised Amy still sitting completely unclothed in the bath, trying to get the water out of her eyes and mouth. He took a deep breath to calm his heart rate and clear the adrenaline from his system.

"Holy shit, John!" Amy exclaimed, scrambling to cover herself as Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade rushed in behind Sherlock. Her confused eyes went from person to person, trying to assess her surroundings and the unfamiliar faces. "What the hell is going on?" she asked, carefully maneuvering her hand so she could push the wet locks of hair that where stuck to her face without revealing herself.

John quickly started explaining himself but Sherlock cut him off in mid sentence. "John thought you passed out and drowned," he told her indifferently as he leaned back against the door frame, glaring at the back of John's head.

"I came to tell you tea was ready and when you didn't answer, I came in to check on you and you were under the water," John said apologetically.

"I was just enjoying my only moment of privacy for the first time since I left my flat yesterday," she explained. Sherlock started to sympathize with her. There would be cases that forced him to constantly be in the company of others and it was maddening. He had no space to breathe or to think properly because there was always other people making noise. He wasn't particularly fond of silence but trying to think in Scotland yard is like trying to have a complicated conversation with someone in a loud pub. Everything gets muddled and skewed, and then you spend precious time trying to figure out when things went awry so you could reorganize everything. But he quickly remembered that she wasn't like that, she never was. It was just an act, he reminded himself. "Why are there three other people in here?" Amy asked John, obviously becoming increasingly more uncomfortable.

"We heard yelling and thought something was wrong," Mrs. Hudson answered, sympathizing with Amy whose annoyed expression started to fade away. If she charms Mrs. Hudson I'll never hear the end of it, Sherlock thought to himself and rolled his eyes. She apologized to Amy and started shooing the men out of the bathroom. Sherlock got a head start, unknowingly mumbling under his breath as he made his way to his place at the table. Spotting the newspaper, he quickly picked it up and started reading it to create a barrier between him and the others in the room. He wasn't in the mood to be social and it would give him something to focus on and tune outJohn and Lestrade's small talk as they joined him at the table and Mrs. Hudson bopped around in the kitchen. By the time she had started plating food and handing it out, Amy had gotten dressed and was walking as quietly as she could in to the room. Sherlock heard her mouse-like steps and without thinking looked up at her and watched her cross the room. Following his unintended curiosity, Lestrade and John looked up from the police reports of Amy's case when she sat down in the empty between Sherlock and Lestrade. All three men stared at her silently as Mrs. Hudson placed a cup of tea in front of her.

"Well, it's not every day I walk in to a room full of people that have seen me naked," she said carelessly and took a sip of her tea then snatched the paper out of Sherlock's hands. The three men adverted their gazes elsewhere and waited for the awkwardness to melt away before attempting to make eye contact with Amy again. Sherlock assumed that he would end this day with an inevitable headache brought on by how difficult it was to get even the most simple things, such as breakfast, accomplished without incident. "Look, Sherlock! We made the front page," Amy said almost as if she was proud then reached under the table and squeezed Sherlock's knee. The offhand comment caused John to choke on his tea and Lestrade to stare back at Amy with wide eyes.
"And you're excited by that?" Sherlock asked, cocking his eyebrow.

"That was sarcasm, stupid face," she replied and slowly released her grip on his kneecap, dragging her fingers lightly across the outside of his thigh as she returned her hand to the paper. Sherlock hadn't expected her insult to be so childish. Most of the time when he aggravated people, "piss off" was as puerile as it got. 'Stupid face' was in an entirely different realm of name calling but it seemed to entertain John and Lestrade who giggled and exchanged amused glances. Sherlock suddenly felt as if he was trying to solve a case with three toddlers to help him and he wanted to strangle all of them.

"So, Amelia," Lestrade said once he managed to contain his chuckling.

"It's just Amy," she corrected, "Amelia is a bit fairytale."

"Okay. Amy, we're going to have to ask you some questions about what happened to you," he replied and pulled out a small notebook and a pen from his jacket pocket.

"Oh, just let the poor girl have her breakfast and cuppa!" Mrs. Hudson scolded and swatted him with a dish towel. Sherlock let out a small laugh. He was glad someone else could see how childish Lestrade could be during cases.

"Mrs. Hudson, I don't want to keep your boys any longer than I have to," he pleaded.

"You can wait ten bloody minutes!" She replied and swatted him again. This time, Lestrade had tried to block her attack with his forearm but Mrs. Hudson maneuvered around him and swatted his shoulder. "Amy, dear, what would you like to eat?" she asked sweetly.

"I'll just have some toast," Amy told her. Mrs. Hudson patted her shoulder and went back in the kitchen and started rummaging around for some bread.

"You really should eat more than just toast," John told Amy in his concerned doctor voice. Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"She can handle herself, Dr. Watson," he said knowing John hated when Sherlock caught him talking in the stereotypical caring doctor tone. He frequently denied that he did so, but Sherlock knew that wasn't true. When John's usual chat up lines didn't work at the women in the pubs, he would find some reason to use the doctor voice to charm them in to coming back to the flat or taking him home with them.
"I forgot you were a doctor, John! Dr. Watson," Amy teased. If Sherlock needed more proof of Amy's ordinariness, or another reason to avoid dealing with women all together, her amusement with Dr. Watson would be enough.

"Settle down, Miss Pond," Sherlock said and turned his gaze over to her. She looked up from the newspaper and met his eyes.

"So now I'm 'Miss Pond'?" She asked sharply. Clearly he had found a button to push if he wanted to make her tick. Sherlock smirked and sipped his tea without taking his eyes off hers. She looked as if she wanted to retaliate or call him some other schoolgirl insult but instead she went back to the newspaper, still fuming as she skimmed through it. When Mrs. Hudson delivered Amy's toast to her, Sherlock assumed victory as she ate silently. However, she only made it halfway through the second piece before throwing it down on her plate and gulping down the last few sips of her tea. She shot up from her seat and brushed the crumbs off her lap before turning to Sherlock. "A word, Mr. Homes?" she asked before storming away. Sherlock didn't think he could be much more cross as he stood up and followed her path to his room and slammed the door behind him.

"What is this about?" He demanded as he crossed the distance to where she stood with her hands on her hips and a scornful expression. Standing so that every inch of their bodies were almost touching at any given moment, he tried to elongate himself and dominate her. Being only a few inches taller than her made it difficult to be his usual intimidating self. Amy was quiet and thoughtful for a few moments before speaking.

"I have something to say to you," she told him after swallowing hard

"The floor is yours, Miss Pond," Sherlock told her sarcastically.

"First of all, none if this 'Miss Pond' rubbish. Since when do you call me by my surname?" Amy asked and cocked her head.

"I'm sorry, would you prefer Miss Williams?" He fired back at her. He watched all the confidence she had mustered fade. To avoid his gaze, she squeezed her eyes shut and hung her head. "You should know better than to think I wouldn't have known," he whispered darkly.

"Whatever you think you know is wrong, Sherlock," Amy said timidly.
"Drop the act, Amelia," he said as he pulled her left hand off her hip and held it between his hands. Amy opened her eyes and watched him trace her ring finger with his thumb, sending chills down her spine. "You almost had me convinced that you were truly clever. You really did come so close. But you didn't did do a very good job of covering your tracks," he hissed.

"There's no point in covering up something I'm not trying to hide," Amy replied sternly.
"How sweet of you," Sherlock laughed. "What a lucky fiance you have."

"I also don't see the point in covering up something I don't have," she said and looked up at Sherlock. He shook his head at her then dropped her hand and headed for the door. Amy quickly slipped between him and the door and leaned all her body weight against it so he couldn't leave. "You have it wrong, Sherlock," she tried to explain.

"You're just making a fool out of yourself," he replied and tried pulling the door opened again.

"Fine. Give me two minutes to prove it," Amy told him. Reluctantly, Sherlock let go of the doorknob and rested both of his hands against his lips, waiting for her to speak. "You must have seen the mark on my finger earlier, probably when we were in the bathroom. And the mark looks like it came from an engagement ring. It did. I was engaged until a few weeks ago."

"Convenient excuse," Sherlock retorted, refusing to believe such a poor alibi. She couldn't really expect to convince him with some line people always used to cover up their bad behavior.
"It seems like it, but look at the mark. It's started to fade from where I haven't been wearing the ring. Had I just taken it off last night you could probably see the negative of what is engraved on the inside," she countered.

"And what is your brilliant explanation of your living situation? Most ex-fiances don't live with each other," Sherlock said, refuting her reasoning.

"Rory and I aren't most ex-fiances. We moved to London together for a fresh start and neither one of us can do it by ourselves. He's been my best friend since I was seven, and no one else could put up with having me as a flatmate." Amy said. Tears had started to well up and but she held them back and gave Sherlock a small smile. "But we both decided that this was what's best. We're not right for each other."

Sherlock analyzed every miniscule move Amy made, every word she spoke, and how she said each one, looking for red flags. Her story seemed too perfect, like it was something out of a book or crap telly. But there were no signs that what she was saying wasn't the truth and all the evidence supported it. In her usual fashion, Amy had left Sherlock mystified. "So if that wasn't what you had to tell me earlier, then what else do you have up your sleeve?" He asked her.

"Before we get to that and to avoid anything like this happening again, I have to ask," Amy said as she ghosted a her fingertips along his arm where the rolled up sleeves of his white button up shirt from the day before left his skin exposed. With her hand hovering around his wrist, she asked, "you don't have any secret girlfriends I should know about, do you?"

"No," he said. The green in Amy's hazel eyes seemed to brighten and her fingers grazed against his wrist. "Only one," he quipped just to get a rise out of her.

"This is probably one of the few times I'm asking you to be serious and you're making jokes," Amy said and shook her head in frustration but Sherlock could see a smile forming. She stepped away from the door and toward Sherlock, infiltrating his personal space. Normally he would have found a way to reinstate the distance but with Amy, everything reversed; he wanted to find a way to keep her close to him always. Something about her drew him in and made the distance undesirable. Every cell in his body wanted to lurch toward her and map all of her in his mind. But the bruises he knew were hiding under fabric and his cowardice held him back.

"Girlfriends aren't really my area," he said, giving her the same single sentence explanation he gave everyone on the rare occasion that the subject came up. Most people simply replied by nodding their head and awkwardly shuffling on to the next topic of conversation. It wasn't until he delivered this line to John that he realized how badly it could be misconstrued. He couldn't understand how ordinary people can't see what is right in front of them but they can overanalyze something until they saw things that weren't really there.

"Because they scare you or bore you?" Amy asked. "Or both?"

Finally someone understands, Sherlock thought, but he kept quiet. Answering would put him in a worse predicament than the one he he had just gotten out of. Telling her why the very idea of relationships bored him would just open the floor for her to tell him, and probably show him, why he was wrong and he'd already had enough of her doing that for one day. And telling her why they frightened him would be even worse. He wasn't ready to expose himself that much yet. Not to someone he didn't trust fully.
"Because I've been busy. London is a big city full of criminals," he told her. It wasn't a lie, but it wasn't exactly the truth. Nothing was forcing him to do detective work except for himself and his mind's constant appetite. It was criminals or cocaine, and he decided the former was the better of the two.

"London is a big city full of women who would kill to be with you," she countered. As she spoke, her hands guided his away from where they rested against his lips and down to her hips.
"Like I said," he whispered as her hands slid up his arms and around his neck, "full of criminals."

"They're more interesting than a waitress at some Italian restaurant," Amy said.

"I'm not sure about that," he assured her. A devious smirk appeared on Amy's face then suddenly her hands were tangled in his hair and she was pulling him down to her. Her lips crashed in to his and took him by surprise. He wasn't sure if what they were doing, what he was doing, was okay. He realized the grip he had on her waist had tightened and he realized he didn't know where to touch her that wouldn't hurt. Under her pale skin, deep purple bruises hid like landmines waiting to be set off.

Amy pulled away just enough to speak. "Stop thinking," she scolded him breathlessly before kissing him again.

"I don't just have an off and on switch," he told her in frustration between kisses. Amy pulled away again and looked at him in disbelief.
"Focus then," she replied, holding his face between her hands. "I know when you concentrate on something it consumes you. You can block out everything but what it is you've got your mind set on."

"Maybe when you're not covered in bruises," he said softly. Amy's face fell in disappointment and she dropped her hands from his cheeks. Taking one hand off her waist, he looked at his watch and frowned. "And we've got about a minute before they send John back here to check on us," he noted.

"Right," Amy nodded in defeat with her gaze fixed on the floor.

Sherlock tipped her chin up and gave her a small smile. He knew his actions caused her to second guess everything that had happened between him, it was written all over her face. For the first time, she was vulnerable in front of him. Even when she was laying in a hospital bed or limping around his flat earlier, she was still domineering as ever. But for that fleeting moment before she rolled her shoulders back and put her guard back up, Sherlock saw past her mysterious exterior. Everything she kept inside her made her all the more remarkable. She was someone that would continue to surprise him; she could keep him from being bored.

Gently, he returned his hand to her waist and pulled her in to him, placing a kiss on her forehead. He wasn't sure where this was going or how it would end up. The possibility of him mucking it up with Amy loomed on the horizon at every second. He was cold, he was selfish, and he was clueless when it came to romance, but he wanted her. Trying to fool himself out of thinking such was a waste of his time.
"What was that for?" Amy asked quietly.

"Consider it an apology for my jumping to conclusions," Sherlock replied.
"For being wrong," she corrected.

"Let's get back to the investigation before it gets brought to us, shall we?" he said, ignoring her remark. Amy rolled her eyes but a smile still tugged at the corners of her mouth.

The two of them returned to where they left John and Lestrade waiting and reclaimed their seats at the table without saying a word. Lestrade looked back and forth between the two as Sherlock snatched the newspaper back and Amy stole a sip of his tea before looking over to John. The doctor simply shrugged and shook his head, realizing that it would be pointless to try and keep up with Sherlock and Amy. He knew that there could only be two possible outcomes for the two of them; they would either fit each other perfectly and maybe Amy would get Sherlock to become a little more human, or they would completely destroy each other. John prayed that it would be the former.

"Is it alright if I ask you some questions now, Ms. Pond?" Lestrade asked cautiously after clearing his throat.

"Go ahead," Amy replied.

"Why don't you tell us what you remember from last night?" he suggested. Amy gave a solemn nod and began to retell the events of the night before.