16th February

It's been two weeks since my funeral now. Three weeks since my supposed suicide off the hospital roof. I'm free, no longer badgered about cases, no longer in the papers. No longer a target for being a fraud.

And I'm absolutely miserable.

I hate it. I hate not being able to see John, or Mrs Hudson, or Lestrade. Even Anderson, who I always argued with. I miss them all.

Especially John. I had informed him once, a long time ago, that I wasn't looking for a date or a relationship with him. At the time, I took it for granted that I had him in my life, and now he's gone, I realised how much I cared about him. Each morning, I stare at my phone, unsure of whether or not to call him. I should talk to him. He was the one I called, the last one I spoke to before I fell from that roof. I heard him scream my name. And I heard him at my funeral, stood alone by the grave, asking me to come back and stop being dead. It had felt like a knife twisting inside of me at the sound of the pain in his voice. I should go back and talk to him.

I look around the small hotel room, and sigh. At the moment this was all I could afford, a small, cheap, crumbling hotel on the outskirts of London. I had taken the room under the name Benedict rather than Sherlock, because my name was too obscure, and it would then quickly come out that I was alive. Benedict had seemed an ordinary enough name, and hadn't attracted unwanted attention so far.

I packed what few belongings I had with me, a few spare clothes, my wallet, my phone, and this, my diary. I've never kept a diary before. I find that I enjoy it, writing down my feelings. What feelings I have, anyway.

I'm outside the hotel, and its drizzling with rain. I start heading towards the main road in order to find a taxi, when from behind me I hear this incredibly loud, wheezing sound. It hurts my ears, and I turn around to see what the source of the noise is. A few metres away there is a blue police phone box, the kind seen in the 1960s. I stare at it, certain that it hadn't been there a moment before. I shake my head and am about to continue, when I hear the creak of the police box doors open, and a hand grabs my shoulder. "Just the man I was looking for" a voice says, dragging me backwards into the box. I shove my attacker away from me. "Leave me alone" I mutter, and am about to get out of the box when the doors shut and the wheezing sound starts up again. I turn away from the doors to see that I'm stood in an enormous room. There's a strange man, the one who grabbed me, darting around what appears to be a set of controls in the centre of the room. He grins and beckons me forward, and I step towards him as he stops fiddling with the console and folds his arms, staring at me. "I can't believe I'm actually stood in front of Sherlock Holmes" he says, still grinning. I frown.

"What do you want with me?" I ask; half tempted to run back to the doors. "Who are you anyway?"

"Who am I?" the man muses. He's tall and gangly, wearing a tweed jacket, braces and a bow tie, like some kind of old fashioned professor. "Good question, Mr Holmes. I'm the Doctor" he says, and I narrow my eyes. "How do you know my name?" I ask, and he laughs.

"Oh, you're famous, Sherlock. Your name's everywhere. All across the galaxy, all throughout history. And I'm here to help you make some decisions in your life" he says. I snort.

"I don't need help making decisions, thank you. I have to go" I say, starting towards the doors, but he catches my arm. "Oh, what now?" I ask.

"You can't leave. We're not in London now. You'll die if you step out of those doors" he says, his eyes fixed on mine. "Let me go" I say, and he drops my arm. He fiddles with the controls again, before going and opening the doors. "I thought you said I'd die if I opened the doors?" I ask, slightly confused. He laughs. "I said you'd die if you stepped outside, not if you open them. Do pay attention" he says, leaning against the doorframe and smiling at whatever he sees outside. I edge closer, my curiosity winning out.

We were in space.

Literally, floating above Earth. I could see the sun, the moon, and the stars. I tilt my head, curious. "The Earth rotates about the sun?" I ask, and the Doctor just stares at me.

"Yes it does. How do you not know that? Every kid on that planet knows that" he says, pointing down at the Earth. I shrug. "Maybe I did know, once. Must've deleted it. Not really that important. Is that why you brought me up here? To tell me the Earth goes around the sun?" I ask, and he laughs again. "No, but I thought that it might put things into perspective for you. Of what the TARDIS can do" he replies.

"TARDIS. That's this machine, right?" I ask, staring at the small island of the United Kingdom far below me. Somewhere down there, John is grieving my life. And I was planning on running away to China. The Doctor nods. "Yes. Time and Relative Dimensions in Space. TARDIS. It can travel anywhere in time and space, hence the name" he tells me, bounding back to the console. "Can you shut the doors please?" he calls out, and I slowly close the doors. "This is all very nice, and I'm glad you thought you would share this with me. But I really do have to get back to London" I tell him, and he stares at me, eyes wide.

"No you don't. You can go back to London soon. I'll drop you off five minutes before you left the hotel, if you like. But first you're coming with me" he says, and the wheezing sound started up again. "Where are you taking me now?" I demand, and he laughs and winks at me. A moment later, he bounds past me, grabbing my arm and pulling me with him. "Come on, Sherlock!"

I'm really starting to hate this guy.

It turns out we were in a graveyard. "You brought me to a graveyard? Why?" I ask, confused as he starts wandering through the gravestones. I follow, and he stops under a tree. "Look" he says, pointing. I look and see a familiar gravestone. My own. "I'm not actually buried here" I remind him, and he shakes his head and points at the gravestone next to mine. I crouch down to read the name.

John Hamish Watson.

I frown at the date. It's exactly five years after my own 'death' date. Why would John die exactly five years later? He was a strong healthy man, unless something happened in those five years. "He's going to die, Sherlock. And read what it says at the bottom" the Doctor says, and I brush aside the long grass covering the inscription at the base of the stone. "I'm glad we can be together again" I read, and felt a lump in my throat. For the first time in my life, I actually felt like crying. The Doctor touched my shoulder. "Come on. Time to go" he says, pulling me back to the TARDIS. I looked back over my shoulder, straining to see the two graves, side by side. I was shoved into the TARDIS, and it took flight again.

"Where are we now?" I ask as the TARDIS lands again. The Doctor refuses to answer, and heads outside. I follow, and frown. We're on the top of the St. Bart's hospital roof, the place I fell from. I'm confused as to why we're here, when a familiar figure steps out onto the roof and over to the ledge. I start towards him, but the Doctor pulls me back, his hand clamped over my mouth to stop me shouting out. He was surprisingly strong for such a skinny guy. I could only watch in horror as John stepped onto the ledge and looked down. "This is where you stood, Sherlock. It seems appropriate that I end it all here, the same way that you did. I've missed you, my old friend. I want nothing more than to see your face again. I'm coming, Sherlock" he says, and I let out a muffled scream against the Doctor's hand as he leans forward and vanished from sight. I wrestle myself free from the Doctor's grip and dart over to the edge and look over at the ground. I can see John, spread-eagled on the ground, and I know that he's dead.

As soon as we're back in the TARDIS, I shove the Doctor to the floor. "What the hell did you show me that for?" I shout, and he backs up slowly.

"I'm showing you that unless you return to London, and return to his life, he will die" he replies. I grimace. "Take me to London, then. Take me back" I mutter, the image of John's dead body lying on the ground burned into my eyelids. The Doctor folds his arms. "When I found you... you were going to the airport, weren't you? You weren't going to see John. Well, now you know what happens if you leave him thinking you're dead. He will jump off that roof, and you can't save him. Just like he couldn't save you..." he trails off, and I snap.

"Shut up! Just shut up! I'm not dead, I didn't die, and he won't either! Take me back where you found me, NOW!" I yell at him, and he smirks and starts playing with the controls slowly whilst I pace by the door. After another terrible wheezy landing, I stride out of the doors and back into London, when a newspaper blew up and hit me in the face. I pulled it away, and spotted the date. I spun round. "You idiot! Come back! It's 2014! Not bloody 2012! DOCTOR!" I bellowed.

But he was already gone.