Sherlock stood infront of the familier numbered black door on Baker Street and ran through the events of the past few days in his head. He tried to convince himself that the reason for doing this was to double check he hadn't missed anything important, but deep down he knew it was simply because he was trying to put off what he planned to do when he walked through that door.

He had watched the two figures in the graveyard from a safe distance and, when she left, pulled Mrs Hudson behind the large gravestone that served as his hiding place. After successfully stifling that irritating scream that all women seemed to insist on producing at the most inconvenient of moments, he explained everything to her. To his surprise, she had accepted the facts fairly quickly after the initial shock. Then again, maybe it wasn't such a surprise. Under that layer of old lady-ish fluffiness was really quite a tough, tolerant woman. He smiled fondly to himself.

His smiled faded to a scowl as the memory of Lestrade's reaction surfaced.

Mycroft had insisted on going in first to explain the matter in a slightly more diplomatic way than Sherlock had planned. As Sherlock had expected, Lestrade hadn't believed a word until Sherlock got so bored of listening to it that he just walked in. This had earned a disaproving glare from Mycroft while the blood drained from Lestrade's face and he stammered and stuttered before collapsing into a chair, much to Sherlock's amusement. This amusement gave way to annoyance when Lestrade recovered and vented his feelings, telling Sherlock exactly what he thought of his 'dramatic stunt'.

After leaving Lestrade with a pot of strong coffee, the pair left and Sherlock was forced to endure another lecture from his brother about how he should stop being so dramatic about things all the time.

Now he found himself about to confront his best friend with an order to 'be sensitive'. With a sigh of resignation, he pushed the doorbell. He had barely time to remove his finger when the door was flung open and the beaming face of Mrs Hudson looked out at him.

"Well it's about time too young man, I was wondering how long it would take you to finally turn up and put poor John out of his misery. I almost did it myself, damn the consequences. If those assassins had shown up again I would have given them such a wallop with my saucepan, let me tell you. Do you know, John has really taken your apparent death badly for an ex-soldier who has watched plenty of friends and collegues meet their end. All he does is..."

And on and on, as she led him up the stairs towards the flat he had shared for so long with his friend. He tuned her out, concentrating intead on resisting the overwhelming urge to turn and run. He got the same feeling everytime he was required to do something tricky on the emotional level but this was something else. Something deeper.

Mrs Hudson knocked on the door and entered.

"Someone to see you dear."

"I don't want to see anyone," John replied from his spot by the curtains where he was staring absent mindedly out of the window.

"You'll want to see this person. I'll leave you together."

"For heaven sake woman, just tell them I-"

But his eyes widened as he turned round and was greated with the impossible site of the door being closed behind his best friend, leaving him alone in the room with what he could only assume was an apparation of some kind.

"Hello," said the apparation awkwardly.

John dropped the cup of tea he was holding. "I...you're..."

"Not dead?" Sherlock offered.

"But...how..."

"And I'm not a fake either."

"I know...you..."

But that was as far as John got before he did something he had never done in his life and would probably never do again.

He fainted.

A few minutes later, he woke up on the sofa with the memory of everything turning black and Sherlock lunging towards him. He opened his eyes to the site of Sherlock sitting in an armchair, watching him.

"How are you feeling?" Sherlock asked.

"Confused," John replied. "Explain. Now."

Sherlock took a deep breath and launched into the story of the whole Moriarty/assassin conundrum.

"That bastard," John said, sounding more like himself. "But I saw you fall. How did you survive?"

Sherlock explained about the doctor, but John just laughed at him.

"Really? You expect me to believe you had help from some guy with a magic spaceship? Look just cut the-"

As if on que, there came a funny wheezing, groaning sound and a mysterious wind blew up that whipped the curtains into a frenzy and sent papers flying around the room. John's mouth fell open as a blue box materialised in his living room. Sherlock glanced at him with a look that said "told you so" and John returned it with an expression that said "Ok ok I believe you."

Before either of them could react furthur, the door was flung open and a floppy haired man in a bow tie bounded out, brandishing a peculier metal stick that was glowing green at the tip and emitting a strange high pitched whirring sound.

"Hello! So sorry to interrupt but I suddenly remembered that ghastly incident with the wifi and thought I'd better double check this place because we can't have them getting hold of the astonishing mind that recides here, that would never do, so I just want to-"

He had been rushing around the room scanning the walls and furniture but suddenly stopped in his tracks and frowned at the mysterious instrument in his hand. He held it out and slowly turned on his heel and aimed it in turn at Sherlock and then the TARDIS.

Sherlock cleared his throat, throwing the doctor out of his reverie. He looked from Sherlock, to John, and back again. Understanding suddenly dawned on his face.

"Oh. You've told him?"

"Just now yes."

"Bad timing?"

"A little. And don't pretend you're here to check the wifi. You're checking up on us aren't you?"

The doctor sighed. "Ok you got me. I wanted to check everything was alright with you two."

He walked over to the sofa and laid a hand on John's shoulder. "You ok with all this?"

"Guess I'll have to be won't I?"

The doctor beamed at him. "Excellent! I can clearly see why he chose you as his companion."

"His-"

"Well I'd best be off! Ta ta! I just want to check..." He pointed the sonic screwdriver at Sherlock again and then at the TARDIS before examining it thoughtfully.

"Everything all right?" Sherlock enquired.

"What? Yes yes, of course, just a slight...but it's probably nothing...I'd better go, bye!"

He rushed back into the TARDIS and the pair watched as it dematerialised.

"He left rather abrubtly. What was that all about?" John asked.

"Don't know," said Sherlock. "Probably nothing important. He's a peculiar one. Tea?"

"Yes please," John said gratefully, deciding not to point out that Sherlock, a man who blew holes in the wall when he was bored, had no business calling anyone peculiar.

Little did the friends know that their lives would soon become more peculiar than ever, and they would be seeing much more of that peculiar floppy haired man in a bow tie who just landed a time machine in their living room.